


Faster Than Flying

by Abby_Ebon



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slash; HarryxDom, FFxHP. Harry started traveling after the war, he never settled down, never married, never kept in contact with friends or family. Only now, Sirius’ bike needs repairs, he didn’t know the damned trouble it would cause to get it fixed…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gritty With Glitches

Harry liked it fast. At first, it'd only ever been about running, getting a little thrill that he sometimes thought was only fear when he was chased. He'd almost gotten into track as a sport, but his ill taken reputation and unproven status as a runner had dashed those early hopes. Instead he'd had to settle for running from Dudley and his gang, only it was almost too easy to dash out of their way.

He'd learned then not to go _too_ fast, not to be "unnaturally good" even at what he liked. For running away from Dudley as he had, had gotten him a lashing almost as bad as the time he'd tried to discredit claims of his reputation as a bad egg.

He'd learned that lesson well, and hadn't run too fast or too well, until the day he was almost caught – it was the sort of rush that welled up in him, of a furious joy and tainted chill – that reminded him of that day. The day he landed on the roof. The day he picked up his wand – the _right_ wand – with the rush of sparks, and the giddy, delighted and yet still ill settled feeling that lingered in his stomach like heavy metal.

It was that rush he'd chased after ever since.

When he'd found something that could take him faster then his feet – a broom, flying just like witches in books – he'd put the goal of getting back his housemates magical object second, flying first. In only a handful of moments he'd floated up, he'd dived and blocked and swooped and raced. It had made him feel like he was floating, even with his feet firmly on the ground.

He knew then that no one could keep him on the ground; he'd find a way, sneaking a broom ride in at night if he had to. He need not have worried; these people were not like his so-called family, they were glad that he was good at something. Maybe even a bit proud to say that they had a hand in his natural born ability. He had not cared what was said – not then, and _certainly_ not now.

Still, in the beginning things had seemed like they would never get old. He had taken delight in everything, in magic lessons, in magical school work, especially though in magical transportation. Then he had learned that not everything was how it appeared. Magic had its blacker places. It was just like anything else in life, not bad but not all good either. He hadn't really _known_ what that meant, not at first. He had finally known what it meant after he had broken free in a magical flying car, and realized that he liked the rumble of an engine, and the rush of wind better then the effortless movement of rider and broomstick. He was a bit strange, even then, for he liked to work for his reward. Something he thought to blame those who had had a hand in raising him only later.

Harry remembered vividly when the chill of the night had settled in his bones, when he had looked in eyes that came close to hellfire red. He had not understood what he was looking at, what kneeled over the fallen silver body of a unicorn. That knowledge came later; even so he was not quite sure that the meaning came to him fully. Not until later, when he realized it was his life and blood and body that housed a power that was like and unlike magic. It might as well have been magic; for all that love was understood to protect him from deadly harm. It seemed impossible, but was not.

Then it was too late. By then, when he knew love of family and friend, he was in the midst of a war. A net had settled over him, which seemed impossible to escape without a snag of scars. He lost Hermione the same day he lost Ron, though not in the same place. Hermione had been visiting the Burrow, a surprise to Ron, but Ron had gone away to get Harry. They came back to the Burrow in flames, to laughter and jeers of Death Eaters. Harry could smell and see it still; like cooked fish and burnt beef, the pale black smoke that curled about the bone white mark of Tom Riddle.

_"Ron – you can't go in, it's too late!"_

_"Harry, I have to…"_

_"Ron, please…don't do this – we can't – I won't…it…it's gone…!"_

_"Harry, do you trust me? I'll be back damn-it, just…it's… I need to make sure…"_

_"Alright…"_

_"I'll be back…you won't be alone."_

_"Sure…"_

The thing Harry regretted the most was not making more of a fuss. Ron would never have had forgiven him, but he thought sometimes it would be worth it to have Ron still alive and whole. What they had thought an empty yard had been an illusion. When Ron pulled the fire proof coat over his red hair and walked beyond smoke into flame, even by then it was too late. The Death Eaters with skull white masks glistening with blood had made themselves achingly real.

Harry knew then he was alone, for the blood was fresh on those bone masks.

What Harry would always remember was the not quite silence. The crackling of flame and the dull roar of sparks and rushing heat, even in that moment which he shivered and quaked in, he had not been alone. It had made him grateful to them, even as he loathed them all the more for seeing him so weakened, they were still human and there was something of respect in them for him, even if it was to go to the grave unacknowledged. There had been a photo taken that night, it had been printed on the front page of the newspaper the next day. It was of him watching the flames. He hadn't known he had cried until he saw it.

Something in him was glad to know he was still human enough to feel that sort of pain, numbed as he had been that morning.

He didn't quite know what had happened, even now. He only remembered the fire, he might have watched it till it smoldered out. Certainly his next memory was of waking in the tree in the front yard of the Burrow, seeing the dew on the leaves and smelling the tainted smoke. He had been sick; he still remembered the taste of bile if he lingered on those memories too long.

To find out what had happened, to get back those lost hours between being surrounded and waking to sorrow, he would have to stir up the dead and speak with them. It was not beyond his ability, but for once Harry had listened to the inner voice that reminded him all too much of Hermione and he had not so much as whispered his desire for his lost moments.

Perhaps it was best he did not know, but he was certain all the same that Tom Riddle was dead. There were no war stories; stories of great heroes rising and living into lore and fable, at least not at the end of this war. That had been Harry's intention – if he had one – in his moment of fleeing.

He had seen that morning's paper, and known with a certain sickness in his belly that he could not linger in the world that had made itself into his home. He would be haunted everyday. He would be without friend or confident or family. He was more alone now, having known those things and missing them; then he had ever been as an eleven year old orphan with abusive relatives.

So now, like then, he ran.

Or, rather, rode.

Sirius had left him his most treasured possession - his bike, a 1981 sleek as night Kawasaki. It flew – sometimes literally – and Harry sometimes rode into the night, still trying to catch his breath and wrestle himself away from memories and moments.

Harry liked that it was fast and powerful, reminiscing that it likened to his own power. Then, halfway out of a town he didn't know the name of; on the North-West side of the United States of America (at least he knew that much of where he was!)….his bike broke.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry was not about to admit he was sulking. Nonetheless, his arms were tucked under his chin and his fingers were fidgeting as he stared at a list of drinks. He was supposed to be thinking of getting something. It was that or leave, in which case he didn't have anywhere else to go. For the first time since he had had a wrist halter created (a bit of magic resistant cloth tucked under his forearm, held in place by straps against his elbow and biceps and the sensitive flesh of his wrist all to keep his wand out of sight and mind – not that he couldn't feel its magic), he wondered if he ought to try to fix it with magic.

It might make it worse. He knew how electric mechanics got along with magic. His bike was something he did not want to risk with a possible glitch of his magic and mechanic wonder. He felt the sick chill of sweat cling to his grey sleeveless shirt at the thought. He huddled a bit in his off-brown leather jacket, seeking not warmth but the comforting scent of oil and sweat and foreign air.

"You don't look very good." Harry jerked slightly, for the voice wasn't the greasy tones of the bar tender, or those of a woman. He'd learnt all too well what bar flies were in these past years and why one avoided them if you liked your pockets full of coin or paper money. Windblown and sun soaked but still black hair fell into his eyes, and he shook his head, rueful that he might as well be a shaggy puppy the way his black hair had grown out. It was strange how things like that snuck up on him.

The man that had settled into the seat next to him (or he was fairly sure that he hadn't been there when Harry had dragged his ass inside) had a dark tone of skin, though it was warm for he thought he felt the heat off it even this close. It reminded him of an engine snarling to life only to idle in place. He'd shaved his head, and Harry had the sense that it'd been like that for a while for it was a natural look, something this man was comfortable with. It wasn't awkward or done for style, it was simple – it was the way this man was. Harry liked that.

"Boys like you who come in here looking like you do are two things, in love and finding out their dumped, or stupid enough to think they'll find comfort in the likes of this place." A glint of dark eyes, amused and predatory, looked him over from head to waist. Harry stilled with that look, as it reminded him keenly of a dragon scoping him out from the edge of her nest. Harry knew now whose town this was. He was sitting beside the man who owned it in all but money and name. This man had the power of the common people at his beck and call.

"You're not drinking, so it isn't comfort you're looking for…which means a girl broke you? Or maybe you're chasing the other side of the coin?" There was an amused curl of lips, and Harry knew it was time to say something. He looked away, feeling awkward for the first time since he fled the magical world and the home he'd grown up in.

"Isn't neither, my bike quit." Harry mumbled the words, but they were heard. The man laughed then, surprising him, it was warm and rumbled like a well oiled car. Harry shivered a bit, peeking though his hair to look again at the stranger who sat beside him.

"Name is Dom'…I'll see that you get your bike fixed, boy." Full lips stretched over white teeth, and Harry smiled a little back, reminded of his first friend, a half giant. It seemed a lifetime ago. Dom offered him a hand, and there was a tenseness – a wary regard – this, Harry knew, was a choice. It was more then what it seemed. Harry didn't know what it was, not yet, but he was intrigued enough to stick around and find out.

"Y-you would? Alright…m'Harry." Harry felt keenly that Dom's hand was bigger then his own, and the calluses were rougher, his skin well used. Dom didn't change his expression, didn't think less of him for having hands better suited to books and pens. Harry liked him for it. He felt the strength in those hands when they pulled him up out of his seat with Dom to steady him a little. Dom didn't let him slip for appearances sake. It spoke well of the sort of man he was not to humiliate him when he could have. Dom nodded out the door, letting Harry go as Dom walked away.

This, Harry knew, was another choice. It was an easy one to make. He followed.


	2. Glinting Through Rust

Dom didn't know shit about bikes. He'd worked most of his life with cars that went faster in the first ten seconds then most people drove their whole lives. Car engines he understood – bike engines, well, those were different. That didn't mean he wouldn't keep his word to the kid. He'd pull a few favors and snarl a few threats to get the bike looked at.

He knew why he gave a damn. He'd seen a bit of his past in the boy. Even with a full shaggy head of dark hair and bright as glossy green paint eyes, there was still that familiarity in his posture and wary looks. He'd lost someone or something, maybe he was running – but it was for damn sure no broken down _bike_ put that much of a haunted look in the kid's eyes.

He'd lost something of himself.

Dom had felt a kinship with that, a small tie. It was enough to offer his hand and see what could be done. At least for now, Dom knew he was taking a risk. He didn't know the kid. He didn't know if this kid would pay up what was due for fixing the bike or run out. If he ran, well, he wouldn't get far in the middle of nowhere with people on his tail. Kid seemed the decent sort though.

If his accent was a little off.

"Where are you from?" Dom asked as he strode along the wooden planks that marked the establishment's balcony from the road. Nothing but gravel sidewalks stretched out between the shops and the road. It looked like the middle of nowhere, and it was – and it was why Dom felt safe enough to walk in broad daylight.

"Europe, or there about…." Dom glanced to the kid with a raised brow. Harry caught the look and straightened up, jutting his chin out and looking stubborn. Dom barked out a laugh again. If he kept Harry around only for amusements sake, it might be worth it. As it was, Harry stood just a hair shorter then Dom, though Dom hadn't realized it with the kid's slouched back and hunched shoulders. He wasn't really a kid at all, probably past drinking age – had to be to ride a bike in these parts, unless he didn't have a license. That would be stupid – the kid looked like a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

'Sides, it probably was the most important thing the kid held onto; if he was sulking like _this_ about it. He wouldn't risk loosing it. That was common sense. The silence stretched between them and Harry took his time about getting to wherever he'd dumped the bike after getting into town.

Kid was probably smart enough to realize this could be a trap, would likely take him on a "walk about" until he was satisfied that Dom was to be trusted enough to look at the damned bike. Dom had never had the greatest bit of patience, but he could appreciate Harry being wary. It was somewhat reassuring, innocent as the kid looked, he hadn't been sure. Someone had had the smarts to teach Harry how to survive.

"L.A." Dom growled out the answer to an unasked question, when it was clear it was not going to be asked. Dom didn't like silences, while Harry seemed the sort to be comfortable with them. That was somewhat annoying to know, as it meant Harry was used to being alone. This wasn't a one time trip, or a very short one.

"Big city, how'd you end up here?" There wasn't any suspicion in that question, only curiosity. Dom saw the kid look over his shoulder, narrow eyed, and shrugged. He couldn't give a real answer for that one – he suspected Harry would have the same sort of answer.

"Way most of us around here do." _Street racing, stealing from truckers, finding out a pal of yours is in with the government, spying on you, escaping it all because of that pal_. Yeah, that was _real_ usual around these parts. Green eyes glanced to him, studied him, Dom didn't look away until Harry did.

"How you know about engines?" Harry asked next, there must have been something in his voice that Dom hadn't meant to be heard, for this question came out soft, careful.

"My dad taught me. Look kid, I don't have all fucking day, stop jerking me around and show me the bike or the offer is off. You can find your own mechanic – good luck with that in this shithole." Dom had had just about enough, and it showed now. He didn't want to scare the kid off – not really, what he wanted was to see if the kid was salvageable. When you got used to running, you started not to care about people. After a while, it was something that you couldn't get over – you'd still be running, even if you were standing still.

"We're here." Harry was more amused by his outburst then startled or annoyed, Dom could tell that much. There was still humanity in the kid. When Dom looked to him this time, Harry had eyes only for what was in the dirty warehouse – abandoned with the rest of this part of town; safe enough here that Dom knew it wouldn't get stolen.

Dom sighed then and looked up to see the bike. It was a beauty – the kind that stayed with you though it was probably as old – or older, then the kid.

"What's her name?" Dom asked moving closer to the bike, where before Harry had been all fine and dandy to lead Dom into a part of town where no one would hear him scream, or find his body until it rotted, Dom was amused – in a approving sort of way, that Harry watched him carefully now.

"Name…?" Harry mused, narrow eyed, as if he had never heard of such a strange concept. Dom felt the corner of his mouth tilt as he ran his eyes over the bike, then glanced to Harry who watched him, tensed, finally taking it in how dangerous Dom could be. It didn't strike Dom that oddly that Harry only noticed now – where what he cared about was sitting stretched out between them.

"Bike like this one…it's obvious you take care of her – you've got to have a name for her, kid." It came out dryly and Harry watched him like a nervous narrow eyed cat. It was odd – even to Dom, that he found himself insisting on this fact – everything that drove and had a soul and a care taker; it had to have a name to match the soul given by its care taker. Dom was only too curious for what that name would be.

"My name is Harry, use it _Dom_. It…I never bothered with a name." Harry finished softly; Dom stood back from the bike, looking it over and wondering what Harry would have said if Dom hadn't called him kid to his face. Harry had a past – a life before this, Dom was sure.

"It doesn't matter. What do you think, salvageable?" Harry's words startled him – because Dom had wondered if Harry was… _salvageable_ , from his lifestyle. He saw some of himself in the kid. It was a weakness. He should just walk away, telling Harry it was pointless. It would fix the problem – that being Harry's running, all the same. It would also break the kid. Dom couldn't do that to him.

"Likely, we'll have to fetch a friend of mine. See what she says…I really don't know shit about bikes." Dom gave Harry a grin that had gotten him out of more scrapes as a kid then what he cared to fess up to. Harry only blinked at him, amusement creeping into his green eyes.

"She, huh?" Dom shifted his weight uncomfortably, knowing that Harry had unearthed the fact that he and Letty ….(who had stuck with him in this no-where town, even though, as she said, he had "poor taste in friends" and had broken it off, she and Vince had something going now) had a _history_ – all it had taken was Dom mentioning it. Harry, he was learning quickly, was innerving in that regard. He'd have to watch himself; there were only so many secrets Harry could gleam off him before it got to be too much.

"I think she'll like you though." Dom reassured him, though Harry still looked uneasy at yet even more people knowing where his bike was stashed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"I've got two kinds of news for you, Dom… the good," Letty announced as she stood from squatting down to look at the bikes engine, "and the not so good." She looked to Harry this time, with pressed lips and a curious expression lingering in her dark eyes.

"Have at it." Harry mumbled, nodding for her to continue, Letty patted the bike fondly though she hadn't taken her eyes off Harry.

"Though this brute has some shit I can't guess at what it's for – and your insistent it stays in place though it'd make more sense to rip it out and put it right - the problem isn't there, it's in the fuel – the pipes have nearly rusted and what isn't rusted is coated with years worth of gunk, have you _ever_ heard of a fuel change kid?" Letty demanded of him, Harry's blank look was enough to make her groan and rub at her temples – which left dark oil marks behind. Dom pressed his lips together so he wouldn't snicker. Harry kept his face perfectly black, somehow.

"How long have you had her?" It was more of a demand then a question, but even Letty couldn't seem to be spiteful to Harry; though Dom knew she was simply hard to get along with on the best of days.

"I've been riding for…a few years." Harry finished, looking aside as if ashamed. Letty said nothing for a long while, looking back at the bike she'd looked over only a little while ago.

"Damn, something magical kept it running for you then – I've never seen it get as bad as this…it is _fixable_ , but that leads to the not so good news…" When Letty paused, Dom knew it would be bad. She gave softening eyes to Harry, who'd tensed up as if he was going to be dealt a blow. In fact…Dom's eyes narrowed, it was exactly as if the kid expected to be hit, thought it was natural – Harry didn't seem to see them a real threat, but it was defensive. As if he didn't know any other way to defend himself against something other then it being somehow physical.

"It'll cost so much, you might as well get another and sell this for scrap…" Letty was rarely motherly, but the way she studied Harry before she'd spoken, Dom knew she'd put some thought into her words before saying them. Letty caught his eye when Harry visibly relaxed, though he was still tense about his shoulders.

"That is _not_ happening." Harry told her firmly, though his eyes were so determined it was hard to argue, least they break – Letty did her best.

"But, the money…you clearly don't have it …. I'm sorry, really I am." Letty did sound sorry for him too – there was no false humility there. It was as real as it had ever been. Letty looked to Dom, asking him what was going to happen to Harry now – and knew that the kid had friends beyond himself. Letty would watch out for him, though Dom hadn't expected it.

"Don't be so sure. I'll get the money for you – just, trust me, alright? I'm better off then I look. Do either of you have a phone you don't mind if I use it to call long distance…?" Harry looked almost sheepish, scratching the back of his neck, though his eyes were someplace else, he was still talking. That much was good.

" _How_ long distance?" Letty asked of him, suspicious in only that his accent had thickened with his words.

"Around about England, or Scotland – I'm not too sure…I'd have to stay the night to hear back after…" Harry trailed off, coming to the present, Letty was shaking her head, hands held defensively in front of her as if to ward off Harry's pleading eyes.

"Forget it." Letty looked away then, careful not to look to the bike or Harry.

"You can stay with me." Dom surprised himself with the offer – he wasn't the only one. Harry looked at him a little too wide eyed, Letty though looked between them, suspicious of his motives. It didn't matter – until Letty looked at him narrow eyed bringing him back to reality.

"Dom?" Harry asked carefully, aware of the tenseness between Letty and he.

"He can stay, Letty." It was simply final. It had _nothing_ ; he tried to tell himself, with the first real smile that Harry had given him.

Nothing at all.


	3. Breathing In Dirt

"So, this is the place, _huh_ …it's – a…" Harry trailed off, a bit sheepish to finish what he had started to say. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He'd _seen_ worse – the all but abandoned Black Manor, Hermione after a cramming session – or Ron at breakfast, or the Weasley's in a rush. Though none of those "messes" had been so lived in looking; what had saved his years Gryffindor boys dorm was simple – house elves.

Harry had always _known_ that a house elf would find him and attach itself to himself and his dwelling if he ever settled down. A house elf needed the magic a wizard or witch gathered around them naturally when they settled into a place for a certain amount of time. Yet that pooling of power was inaccessible to them unless they claimed an attachment to the witch or wizard magically.

It was what had forced them to endure servitude, so they could thrive off that wild-magic that they would live on. At first house elves had tended to the land – then, seeing the sort of messes a wizard or witch was capable of within their own dwelling and knowing the nature of magic would make such messes worse rather then better.

Well, Harry knew now how a house elf might have felt facing the prospect of living on lands where a mess –magical in nature or not - could worsen to the point where the witch or wizard would move on rather then clean up. It may have seemed a small price to pay – and a witch or wizard might be oblivious to it at first – but they would realize and take advantage as was the usual nature of such situations.

Still, Harry having grown up cleaning up after himself and his relatives in the same sort of servitude that house elves endured felt the itch at his fingers to pick this place up – if only so he wouldn't have to live (even a night would be too long) in this sort of….mess.

Harry did not know how Dom _endured_ it; let alone _lived_ in it. Something on his face must have betrayed his thoughts for Dom spoke then.

"A dump, yeah, I know." Harry was reminded of the fact that he owed Dom – who was taking him in as a stranger even now – who had given him a fair mechanic; so he swallowed and itched at the back of his neck as he protested his innocence.

"That wasn't what I was going to say!" Harry had ducked his head down, his eyes roved over the floor - there was dust in the corners of the floor; it looked as if it hadn't seen broom, mop, or vacuum since Dom had started calling it home. Still, he bit his tongue.

"Sure." Dom chuckled, amused at Harry's uneasy fidgeting and manners. Anyone else he knew would have bitched at him to get a "woman" (even Letty had said so, though she'd been smirking at him at the time); or to take out the trash. Dom could ignore a thing like cleaning up after himself – he was rarely home as it was and he didn't really have a sense of pride with his place as it didn't mean anything to him.

His friends knew that and accepted it though they rarely invited themselves over to his place. It seemed they thought he was hopeless without Mia. He didn't disagree, but Dom knew Mia didn't need to be reminded of what had been – she needed to move on, so when she'd told him about college and degrees and real careers – he hadn't argued with her leaving.

"So… _where_ is the phone?" Harry, wondering if it was wise to change the subject but unable to help himself, asked hesitating only a moment before he looked up to see what Dom's expression would tell him. It was bemused, if somewhat distant. Harry knew there was something else to this mess – but he knew not to ask. Not yet.

"Over there, on top of the newspapers." Tossed in the corner was a box, rolled up around the box were unopened local newspapers. Sure enough, perched precariously on the box was a telephone though Harry could not see where the cord went into the wall. Pressing his lips together, Harry wondered if he ought to mention the fire hazard – if only because magic and electricity often did not mix well.

Still, he kept his peace as he moved determinedly toward the phone. He had a call to make – it was almost sundown (hours had passed swiftly since Letty had started going over his bike and he had met Dom at the bar) – it would be early morning either way he figured it. He dialed a number – that of Ted Tonks, Muggle-born as he was Harry _knew_ he would have kept a phone to keep in contact with his family or friends. He was dead now, but his wife was not. It was also very likely that Andromeda would know what to do with a ringing phone though she was as pure blood ancient as a witch could be. Harry knew she would not have thrown out the phone, if only to keep as a memento.

Still, he did not expect someone else entirely to know how to answer the phone.

"Hullo, hullo…?" Child like and curious, Harry could almost picture the little boy – though he had never heard Teddy speak – who had answered. Harry felt as if he was frozen, he had not thought of Teddy – the son of Tonks and Remus Lupin (both deceased, he remembered with pained heartache); his own godson. For a moment Harry did not know how old Teddy would be. Harry thought of how many years had passed; Teddy would be a toddler.

Harry closed his eyes, swallowing down the dry lump in his throat. When he thought he could speak without his voice betraying him he began. He did not know that Dom was looking curiously at his tensed back.

"Hullo, this is, _ah_ …is Dromeda…your grandmother, there?" Harry asked haltingly, cradling the phone to his ear, he could hear Teddy inhale and exhale in a sigh; apparently this happened to him a lot – people calling for his grandmother and treating him as the massager boy.

" _Yeah_ …" Teddy told him at a soft –reluctant – mutter. ' _One day_ ,' Harry promised himself and Teddy as he closed his eyes, ' _I'll have to tell you who I am; who your father was – what your mother would have sacrificed for you_ … _just give me a year more_ …'

"Can you get her for me, please?" Harry asked, trying to sound as if he wasn't about to break down in hysterics with the memories that threatened to overwhelm him like a storm he had not known he stood at the heart of until it was too late to run. Harry didn't know his hand was shaking – Dom noticed though.

"Yep… _Grandma_! Someone's on the tell-ah-phone for you!" With shrill tones Teddy called for Dromeda, who, Harry knew, would not thank him for this call.

"Yes?" Her voice was short and clipped, her irritation plain – it was the first time Harry had heard a full witch's voice in almost a half dozen years. He laughed, he hadn't realized what he was missing – the life in a voice holding magic was like giving water to a man slowly dying of thirst. Harry hadn't known he was missing it so much.

"H-Harry!…?" Andromeda's voice was soothing and kind now, as if she was approached by a cat she only now realized was wild. Still, she would seem to want to tame it. She was not unlike what he remembered. He was glad for that much.

"Yes, Dromeda, it's me. How is he?" There was only one _he_ that Harry would ask her about – as Andromeda knew very well that Harry's mind was lingering on the boy who'd answered the phone. Indulging him, she dove into the subject with as must enthusiasm as she could.

"Oh, Harry….you should see him for yourself; he is so like Remus for all he takes after my Nymphdora as a Metamorphmagus…it would do you good to see that they live on through their son; but he is fine, as am I. How are you? Are you in trouble...? – or, coming for a visit? I'll ready a room for you by tonight, if you're of mind for it. It wouldn't be any trouble." It was so painfully obvious that was her hope, Harry almost hated to refuse her offer. Still, he was all too aware that his side of the conversation had to be discreet for Dom would be listening, however much he did not want to.

"No, nothing of that sort, though I might visit soon; I _would_ like to see you – and _him_. I have a problem, but it isn't any sort of the usual trouble I used to have. I only need some money. You remember that bike Sirius left to me? It seems it would have been wise of me to read up on certain bits of, ah, proper and regular maintenance. Still, you have a copy of my key – I left it to you incase there was anything Teddy would need – if you would withdraw a certain amount and have it sent – discreetly – I would be most grateful." Harry listened to her breathe over the line, considering situations and possibilities he might have gotten himself into. Andromeda was more then capable of bullying the Ministry of Magic into searching him out and sending the cavalry in if she thought he might be in the least bit of trouble.

"Grateful enough to visit for his birthday – _hmmm_ \- never you mind, I'll not guilt you into it though I've half a mind to do so, Harry – I'll do gladly what you ask. How much do you need…?" Andromeda trailed off; likely she was calculating how much she could afford to send off to him. Harry didn't mind – she had been born a wealthy pure blood and Harry had given back to her what was her Black birthright – moreover, he had given her say over most of the Black family wealth though he was –by all rights – the head of the Black house. Harry had never wanted to deal with it – but Andromeda had been raised to handle such things with a certain ease which Harry lacked. He trusted her; even with the matter of the Potter vault for Teddy.

"A small fortune, I'm not certain of the exact amount – but I might need to sell off one of the smaller properties." Harry told her somewhat reluctantly – he did not want her to worry too much – but he did need to settle with Letty so that he could get his bike repaired and be on his way.

"No need for _that_ , I think I can get you your small fortune without resorting to giving bits of our family history or antiquities away." Her tone was humorous –light and flighty - though it was very clear that she would do no such thing unless it was a dire necessity. Harry would not force her to do such.

"I'm in agreement, Andromeda – I may hold the titles; but you're the _real_ power here, I'm not refuting that right." Harry reassured soothingly, he could not help the small smile that crossed his features. He was asking a favor – and wanted that made clear to her– yet Andromeda in her own way had all but told him that she would give over as much to him as she dared without ruining the life she had made for herself and Teddy. Still he did not know how much gold would turn into the proper amount of muggle money. It was especially confusing that this was needed in a currency that he was a stranger to.

"Do not sell yourself short, Harry – I will do what I can. You'll have what you need by tomorrow, I hope that is soon enough…?" There was a question in her tone – she had no way of knowing how deep in debt he was or what he owed to whom. There had been fools who'd gambled away more then their share of an inheritance.

"It is…thank you, Dromeda…" Harry reassured her, knowing that she would likely send too much – he remembered well the Potter vault. He bit his lip though, uncertain in his amounts as he was, he did not want to appear to have no wealth at all in which to pay Letty. In his own way he had given his word – he would do his best to keep it.

"You're more then welcome, I only wish you asked more often for help …" Andromeda trailed off then with a sigh, it was her own way of saying good-bye and a moment later the dial tone filled his ears. Harry put the phone carefully back into its cradle, turning then to regard the room at large. It disturbed him that he did not know when Dom had left him to his privacy.

"Dom…?" Harry called out, his voice a little louder then what was necessary. He heard a thump and a muffled curse. Harry trailed into the kitchen and blinked in shock – it, of all the places in the small one-bedroom flat – was spotlessly clean. Harry would never have pegged Dom for one to eat his own cooking.

It was an _interesting_ thing to learn.

"You are done with that call, then?" Dom asked his voice even as he looked over his broad shoulder at Harry – he nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral. With a look over Harry from head to toe, Dom tilted his chin, as if measuring Harry's worth. Harry pressed his lips, uncomfortable – and wondering how much Dom had heard.

"You any good in a kitchen?" It was somewhat doubtfully asked. Harry understood then, what Dom had been looking him over so intently for. He held in his laughter as he nodded once more, solemnly. Dom huffed and nodded in the general direction toward the fridge and stove.

"Well, then, what are you waiting for a gold invitation? Get your ass over here and help." This time, Harry didn't bother to hold in his laughter as he moved to help Dom with setting up something to eat. It was only a fair compromise, Harry reasoned, for the use of the overnight couch.


	4. Rumble Like A Roar

Dom tried not to think of it as eavesdropping. Still, he knew – there was no denying it – that there are some conversations that you _know,_ from the very start, are meant to be private. Dom thought, later, he _knew_ this was one of those from the very start.

Harry hadn't made a move to gesture him out of the room – or asked, or anything of that like. Harry might respect this place as his; Harry, in his own way, accepted and embraced his role as his guest. Dom got the feeling that Harry had been raised in a way that was as strange to Dom as motorcycle engines.

It was a strange feeling, that certainty.

Dom didn't know much about etiquette, he certainty hadn't studied it – or been taught much of it. He knew the basics – using forks instead of fingers, elbows off the table, certain things not said (sex, drugs, politics…) around the dinner table. Those lessons had been taught by Letty, all the same, Dom grasped there was _more_ to it then that.

Dom had never had much interest in learning anymore then what he had in his head. Now though, now he was curious. What was he _supposed_ to do? What did Harry expect of him? Dom didn't have a clue.

Harry _knew_ he was there, Dom argued to him self, as he fidgeted where he stood watching Harry dial; knowing he was hovering when he didn't have much right to do so. Dom was close enough that he heard a child-voice answering the phone. Harry's reaction startled him – Harry was frozen, and if Dom didn't know any better he would have thought something like fear was smothering Harry where he stood. Still, Dom recognized the brittle fear that tensed Harry's back.

"Hullo, this is, _ah_ …is Dromeda…your grandmother, there?" Whatever it was – fear, sorrow – pain - , Harry forced himself to speak through it. It was a brave thing to do. Dom would not have known something of it lingered – if he didn't see Harry's hand begin trembling while holding the phone to his ear.

"Can you get her for me, please?" There was still some tension, but if the child suspected it – there was no sign. Dom moved far enough away that he wouldn't hear what was said on the other side of the line. He would give Harry that much courtesy.

Dom was, though – no doubt of it – more then a little curious when Harry started laughing. It was brittle, tinged with hysteria – but it was what Harry needed. Dom knew that much, for Harry's next words were clean of whatever memories had scared and smeared him at the start of the call.

"Yes, Dromeda, it's me. How is _he_?" Dom had to wonder how much of this call was good for Harry. Maybe whoever he was calling was as close to a family as he had. Maybe he had a home, Dom hadn't thought – hadn't guessed that he might. He had _thought_ Harry was a run away. Maybe he was, but if he was calling home after all this time…. Dom had to wonder why he hadn't gone back before.

Was there something at " _home_ " that Harry had good reason to be afraid of? The thought that the kid _might_ have a safe place – a sanctuary – but that place had been tainted, that Harry had ran from it… _that_ pissed Dom off. Not at Harry – but at whoever had ruined Harry this much, whoever "at home" had carved the tombstones in his eyes, to the point where Harry didn't know how to stop running.

Dom was suddenly, _viciously_ glad, Harry was here – with him – safe. Whoever he was calling, whoever had hurt him "at home"; they would have to come here. Dom would get his chance for revenge – for Harry's sake – if he were patient. It he waited. Dom knew he could wait, if it meant dealing out some of the pain he saw echoing in Harry – some of the pain that Dom himself had had been burdened with in his youth.

"No, nothing of that sort, though I might visit soon; I _would_ like to see you – and _him_. I have a problem, but it isn't any sort of the usual trouble I used to have. I only need some money. You remember that bike Sirius left to me? It seems it would have been wise of me to read up on certain bits of, ah, proper and regular maintenance. Still, you have a copy of my key – I left it to you incase there was anything Teddy would need – if you would withdraw a certain amount and have it sent – discreetly – I would be most grateful."

It took a moment for Dom to adsorb what Harry was _saying_ , despite what Dom was _hearing_. Harry was trying not to say things he shouldn't. Dom knew that Harry was aware of him – he had not been forgotten. Harry thought he might visit whoever 'Dromeda' and the child-voice were. There were no ill feelings between them. Harry trusted them. Dom settled down, sorting out what he had heard while Dromeda chatted at Harry. She seemed the type.

There had been something about a key – and Harry was better off then he thought, if he had been left an inheritance (for the sorrow in Harry was plain when he spoke of this Sirius-fellow, Dom had to wonder who he had been father, brother…friend?) – or at least well enough off that a 1981 Kawasaki had been included. Harry cared about the _bike_ , not wealth – that much was clear.

Yet he was rich enough where he hadn't thought – or researched into – something as simple as maintenance. It spoke of a carelessness that was not intentional. Harry hadn't meant to not know – but the unfamiliarly, the disregard – it itched at Dom as something _strange_. He wouldn't disregard that feeling of unease, not yet.

"A small fortune, I'm not certain of the exact amount – but I might need to sell off one of the smaller properties."

Dom had a hard time holding his tongue. Being well off enough was one thing – wealthy inheritance another – but _properties_ (the very would implying there was more then one building or land acre included in the mass of it) was something very different all together. Harry was English, and to Dom's limited knowledge of the overseas only the powerful – very old _noble_ families – owned any properties of any significant value.

Dom tried to stifle his stirring of unease; he could be misreading the entire conversation. It was only one side, but it was Harry's side – and that significance was not lost to Dom. He tried not to feel used – or betrayed. Harry didn't owe him anything. He had not misled him, if leaving things out was a crime – well, Dom was guilty of it too.

"I'm in agreement, Andromeda – I may hold the titles; but you're the _real_ power here, I'm not refuting that right."

Something in his chest eased with that claim. Harry was what he looked like. He was a figurehead to this woman, this Dromeda – she was the one with the wealth, the one who had been raised to it. How she fit into Harry's past, Dom didn't know, but he knew – was sure- that the wealth…. Harry didn't want it. That much, even Dom could read from Harry.

It was a strange thing – as strange as that carelessness Harry had that didn't seem to fit with his nature. Dom had always wanted money – it was the way of things, the wealthy had power, the not-wealthy wanted power and money. Harry had both, seemingly, yet the way he lived – the ease he had – it spoke loud and clear; Harry might hold titles and lands and wealth, but he hadn't been raised into it.

Harry it was a relief for Dom to know – to be _sure_ , that he did not secretly look down on Dom.

It was enough, for now. Dom moved toward the kitchen, wondering if Harry was any good at eating his own cooking. If not, well, Dom would find something for Harry to do to earn his keep. One thing was certain, Dom didn't want to think of money – and he didn't want to think Harry had it, while he did not. He didn't want it to get in the way.

Dom heard Harry call for him, and was glad he hadn't stuck around to hear the end of the phone call. There was that much trust between them. Dom cursed as the knife he had been holding slipped. As he held the clean dishrag to his sliced hand, Dom heard the muffled footsteps that were the only sign of Harry walking into the kitchen. It, at least, was clean.

Slightly smug about it, Dom looked over his shoulder to take in Harry's expression; there was amusement (though some worry lingered) and a certain relief at the cleanliness found here. Dom let Harry know in his own way that Dom had overheard enough of his phone conversation to know that Harry was – as he had said – much better off then he looked.

Dom found he was surprised with the ease that Harry took to his knowing. Most people would want promises kept about such a finding. Between heating noodles and cooking sauce, Dom figured it out. It _wasn't_ a secret. At least, it wasn't the biggest one. He wondered what else there was to know about Harry. Then he decided, as he gestured to where the plates were – that he'd stick around Harry to find it out, even if he had to get used to motorcycles.

Dom settled into the wooden chair, and mused on what Letty and Vince might say if they found out his plans. What would Mia think? Dom snorted softly, shaking his head as he ate. Dom suspected that he would find out soon enough, Harry did seem determined to be on the road _sooner_ rather then later.

"Are…" Harry trailed off, the lingering pause as telling as the way that Harry stared down at his food, rather then look across the table to Dom. Harry wasn't yet sure of his welcome. It came from the running, that uncertainty. Dom glanced up, but he knew it wouldn't be any help to address something that Harry wouldn't say outright; for all that the unspoken strained between them.

Harry swallowed, itching nervously at the back of his neck as his eyes shifted over the room. His eyes skimmed over everything, then – with a sigh – those gloss green eyes settled on Dom almost accusingly.

"Are you sure, you know, that you want to do this –not that I'm not grateful…but…? Things, they aren't _normal_ with me. I mean, you heard…well, I don't know what you heard – but, you can guess I've got a past –a bad sort of history, you could say, and the reason…" Harry looked away then, studying carefully the plate and bits of pasta left on it, as if he was trying to divine an answer in it.

"The _reason_ I'm asking is, well, it's because when I stay in one place – even if I hadn't made the call to 'Dromeda…well, history has a way of catching up with me – and I'm not sure…I don't think you _know_ what that means, what I'm trying to say is…I don't want you to regret taking me in. I just want you to know that, and that…that I understand if you would prefer if I went somewhere else – you already did me a favor by letting me use the phone – and feeding me…" Harry trailed off, his lips twisting in guilt. Dom thought he had said enough. He wasn't going to hold the sketchy words against Harry – it was enough that he had admitted to them. What Harry had admitted, in a roundabout way, was that he _had_ been running from something – or someone, for years. It was progress.

"You givin' me an out, kid?" Dom rumbled the words, leaning back in the chair so that the wood creaked, his arms folded over his chest defensively. Harry pressed his lips together unhappily; stubborn he tilted his chin up to face Dom. He had a point to make – they both did; it would be seen to an end.

"Yeah, I guess…I guess you could say that." The words were almost a sigh they were so soft. Harry shifted his weight, getting up from his seat – he pulled the brown leather jacket tighter around his narrow shoulders. Dom couldn't remember a time when he had seen anyone who looked more like a dejected puppy. Harry had his back to him, making his shuffling way to the door.

Dom decided to put an end to _that_ right then.

"I haven't changed my mind, though you might prefer the guest bedroom to the couch, it's on the far side of the living room." Harry didn't say anything – he didn't need to. Not when Dom heard the shuffling steps lighten with relief; he heard the guest bedroom squeak shut, rather then the thump-slam of the main door.

Satisfied with a day's work of taking in strays; Dom cleaned up, deciding to leave the dishes for the morning – noticing as he did so, that Harry had eaten most of everything. The tugging of a lingering worry easing, Harry wasn't malnourished if he could eat so much in one sitting. It was a small worry of his that had been eased, but Dom found he was grateful for the small miracles granted.


	5. Billowing Clouds In The Night

_"Ron – you can't go in, it's too late!"_ Ron's hand was too warm gripped by his own. It was a stark contrast to the terror and horror, cold and dispassionate that coursed through his blood. Harry could not turn away as he, stricken, watched the flames, not knowing that the flames seemed to kindle golden embers within his forest green eyes. Ron, his back to the flames, took in the sight with a wary disparity.

 _"Harry, I have to…"_ Ron was pleading with him, fingers tightening briefly around his own. Reassuring, soothing, that warmth was driving away the numbing cold. Harry wasn't sure he _wanted_ to let Ron keep on touching him; he didn't want to feel the pain he knew he would endure if the icy grip of disbelief was washed away. Ron pulled firmly away, and Harry – reluctant, grateful – let him take a step away.

 _"Ron, please…don't do this – we can't – I won't…it…it's gone…!"_ Harry wasn't aware of the flare of a gold ring that cradled his pupil. Ron swallowed, looking away from the eerie gaze as he took in the sight of the only home he had ever known, burning. His freckles stood out boldly against his pale features, he didn't know he already looked beaten. It was that, more then his words, which caused Harry to give in to him so easily.

 _"Harry, do you trust me? I'll be back damn-it, just…it's… I need to make sure…"_ Harry closed his eyes against Ron's words and features; it gave Ron a moment of relief. He knew, as plain as it was before him to see with his own eyes, the more that the Dark Lord fought to snuff out the life in Harry, the more of a stranger Harry was becoming. It was frightening. Harry sighed softly, though Ron could see the defeated slump of his shoulders. His heart, already torn, ached for his best friend.

 _"Alright…"_ With Harry's word, Ron almost changed his mind, but he swallowed and pressed his lips together so that Harry would not know how he struggled. Their balance had shifted; it made how vulnerable – no matter also how strange- Harry truly was plain for Ron to see for the first time.

 _"I'll be back…you won't be alone."_ Harry heard Ron speak one last time, a futile promise – but maybe, maybe it would make all the difference. Harry didn't know if he could survive without anyone at all. Ron's fingernails bit into his own palm.

 _"Sure…"_ Harry's answer held emptiness – a void. Something unseen had broken within him. Ron feared what it might be, but he _knew_ then, Harry _could not_ be left alone. Something terrible would happen if he were.

" _Come with me, Harry_." Ron gave Harry an awkward forgiving sort of grin, and Harry, solemn and strange as he was lost in this moment, nodded with a slight twist to his lips that was not quite a grin.

Ron took out a dragon hide coat, it had been a gift from Charlie – and Harry half feared that it would soon serve as his burial shroud; still, there was nothing to be done as it was draped over their heads. They made slower progress then Ron liked getting though the burning door of the Burrow, made weak by fire. Harry had feared that they would have to search for Ron's family – for Hermione – but it was too easy to find them, bound to the floor that was not – yet, burning.

" _So, you've come after all, to see this last line of traitors ended_ … _bad-blood, deceitful, all of them_." Ron had not faced Voldemort as often as Harry, but he knew that voice, it slid over them like something smothering. Life leaching, even when Ron did not dare turn – Harry did, pivoting on his heel, his wand (where had he gotten it from?) pointed steadily toward Voldemort. His eyes were burning gold.

" _Let them go, Tom, this is between us – leave them out of it_." There was no question – no asking – in Harry, later he would wonder with aching pain in his heart if Voldemort would have released them (did he not have what he wanted, with Harry before him?) if he had asked it kinder. Harry had gotten too used to Voldemort and his antics; it left an imagined distance between Harry and Tom and reality – as if all that was happening between them could be left behind with a leap. Yet neither would leave the other behind as less then dead.

" _You would demand such from me…but, I wonder, would you beg_?" Those words purred out of the smoke, intimidating and pleased. Ron finally turned his head to look over his shoulder, his hate – his anger, could not be disguised or dismissed.

Voldemort laughed, throwing his head back – pale throat exposed, _vulnerable_ , Ron thought. Ron, forgetting magic in his rage, leapt for him. Harry, not expecting such, was too slow to stop him. With a gesture, for not a word was spoken, Voldemort flung Ron to the floor. He lay there, panting, prone; it was all too obvious that Voldemort had been teasing – _testing_ \- him; had meant from the very beginning to hold him under his power, to _use against Harry_. It was too late, too obvious – Ron cried out in frustration. Time itself, as if it rejected what was happening, seemed to draw out and slow things that could not – would not – be stopped.

" _Yes, I would beg, Tom – is that what you want of me_?" It hurt Ron to hear Harry say so, for only he –and Voldemort - perhaps knew what it would cost Harry. Voldemort sneered down at Harry, a mocking smile twisting his pale features. Silver eyes and gold clashed, and then there was a rushing in Harry's ears, as if he was in a car and the window was down with the wind choking him; a feeling as if something in his stomach had dropped out lurched up his throat.

They weren't in the Burrow anymore, in the distance, the Burrow was burning. What he had thought an empty yard had been an illusion. The Death Eaters, with skull white masks glistening blood, had made themselves achingly real. Harry knew then he was alone, for the blood was fresh on those bone masks. Anyone that might have tried to find out what was happening at the Burrow – to help him, was dead.

" _Yes. Beg…_ " There was twisted longing there, underneath the words Voldemort used. This night, he knew he had gone too far, he had made this war between them personal – though Tom had taken his parents, Harry had never known them as he had his friends and the Weasley family. It had gone too far with the death of Sirius, of Dumbledore – and now, this, this was too much – even for Tom.

Sickened, Harry took stumbling steps backward, as if doing so – as if putting distance between them – would take back what had been done. Harry was unaware of the gold flames licking at his feet, lapping at his skin, threading though hair. When he looked up, there was no pupil in his eyes, no whites; they were smoldering – _smothering_ \- gold.

" _Good boy, whatever else comes of this night, you've learned hate_." Voldemort smiled again, a quirk to his lips that made him seem almost _proud_ of his enemy. It was, of course, illusion – trickery. Tom was very good at faking things.

There was an eerie not quite silence. The crackling of gold flame that hovered upon him, the dull roar of sparks on his skin and rushing heat within him, even in that moment which he shivered and quaked in, he had not been alone. It had made him grateful to them, even as he loathed them all the more for seeing him so weakened, they were still human and there was something of respect in them for him, even if it was to go to the grave unacknowledged.

Harry never spoke. Yet his reaction to those words was profound, it was as if the entire world was a lake, and he was a stone thrown in. The world quaked, the very air rippled as magic threw itself outward, in the distance the Burrow, still lit by flames, smoldered to nothing within that heartbeat. For all that it was a ruined, blackened heap – the implication was clear. For the first time, the silver eyes of the Dark Lord dimmed with doubt.

Harry took ruthless advantage. It was almost too easy, to make the blood on the white-as-bone skull masks, the Death Eaters own, they cried blood – even as their skin burnt and their bodies fell, wrecked with pain, onto the ground. He gave them no mercy, they could not even scream.

Among them, only Tom still stood, as if the last field of crop not harvested.

" _This is not hate, Tom_ ," Harry did not open his mouth, but the words – the thoughts, ran through both their minds, their lives until this moment had been entwined, as closely tied as two threads interwoven on a tapestry, " _this is mercy_."

It was messily done, Harry half did not know what he was doing – but he did know it had to be done. Harry broke the last tie between them; the bit of Tom's soul that had clung to Harry all his life was severed, flung away from his own. Still, it stained him, memories that were not his own would taint his perspectives. Tom hadn't known that this night, they had gathered for celebration. Or perhaps he had suspected, yet he had no way of knowing that all his other Horcruxes had been fished out and destroyed; his eyes melting silver, widened as the knowledge echoed through him.

An eerie smile hovered over Harry's lips, his fingers twisted, as if having a choking hold on a door knob. Tom had used the scar upon Harry's brow against Harry many a time, but Harry had never done so.

Tom had thought he couldn't - he was the master of it, his magic having been the reason. Yet it was not so. As the last magic he had ever done, Tom had not realized that if Harry flung away his soul - rid himself of the scar, his magic would go with it.

Tom had no defense to this, golden flamed licked at the scar, and it healed- its angry rawness fading, the blood drying, leaving only a silver mark, as if Tom could not quite believe this, he gripped his wand – crying out.

" _Avada Kedavra._ " There was no flare of green fire. No pull from the scar that was their connection. No magic at all. Harry had cut him off, discarded him. Tom's eyes widened in horror as he realized that he was not only helpless; he was what he hated most. A _Muggle_.

Tom took a halting step back, for Harry was still burning with golden flames that left his skin unmarred, a physical – visual- awareness of a magical life-force. Voldemort held his hand up to see silver flickering in his palm; he frowned, confused, conflicted – looking upward to Harry, his mouth forming words he never spoke. Silver smoldered, burnt out.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had died.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry Potter woke, choking back a scream. He lay there, gasping and panting - he couldn't seem to breathe. It had not been a dream. He remembered, _finally_ , remembered – maybe it was only that he finally trusted someone again, that he had lay down in a strangers spare bedroom and had not been wary.

Or maybe it was something about time, that he had healed, and his magic – which for months after had been spent, a wretched thing that would not be prodded for even the easiest of spells. Whatever it was, he _remembered_.

Harry heard his heart beating in his chest, like a bird trying to take flight. He swallowed dryly, closing his eyes, curling to his side. His face buried in his pillow, he let his shoulders heave with tears he had only sparingly shed. Gradually, he became aware – he had sweated as if in a fever, he felt as if he should wash away what taint stained him by remembering. How could he have forgotten it all?

Feeling wretched, he stood, stumbling, not bothering to get something to wear from his duffle. Harry could come back to get it, afterwards, couldn't he? All that seemed to matter at the moment was that he gets clean, and quickly. He doesn't exactly run to the bathroom, but getting to the bathroom is a blur of movement, no details seem to sink in.

Harry must have made more sounds then he thought, though. That was almost certain. To him it seemed that the night swallowed up the sounds he made, somehow that was comforting. As if his returned memories didn't matter nearly so much as he thought they did. Harry focused for a moment, taking in the sight of the bathroom – a single toilet, a shower without a curtain, and a sink on the third wall. It took him a moment, fumbling, to turn the knobs so that the water was cold enough to shock him out of his slump and not let him fall asleep.

With his luck, he'd likely drown. Harry didn't think Dom would like that much.

Thoughts raced through his mind as he stood under the shower – should he bother announcing his recovered memories? The mystery of the death of the Dark Lord, well, even he, as remote from the Magical World as he had made himself become, still heard whispers and rumors.

Who would – _could_ \- he tell a hint of this to, without it leaking out? There were precious few he trusted. For a while he dwelled on Andromeda, she who was the only family – however distant – he could claim. Her voice was a reassuring echo in his mind, soothing. Keenly, he missed her, and missed Teddy more, who he had held only a half-dozen times. He did not want to burden them, but who else could he trust?

Luna Lovegood, a seer who he had always liked, who was strange and unearthly in her ways. With pale skin and golden hair, even he hadn't missed the mutters that he should settle down, and that they would make as good of a pair as any other. He remembered the booming laughter of Kingsley Shacklebolt when Harry had stuttered and mumbled out the question of how to tell Luna that, while he loved her fondly, he was not _in love_ with her. Kingsley, after he had caught his breath, had placed a large dark hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder, telling him firmly that Luna already _knew_ that, and it was only fool's talk.

Harry became aware, as if waking from a long sleep that he was still crying, the shower smothering out the sounds he made with rushing water. He realized then, that he was not as alone as he thought – there was a pecking on the window, the grey and brown owl determined to gain entrance, no matter that it was a muggle dwelling.

More importantly, Dom stood framed in the doorway, his expression Harry thought was a mix of both amusement and mortification. Beneath the rushing shower water, Harry knew he was very naked – as if it was Dom that were nude, not he – Harry flushed red, adverting his eyes to the window and the owl.

It was perhaps not the best idea, drawing Dom's attention to the thick white parchment clutched in its talons; very obviously, it was why the determined owl wished to enter.


	6. Soaring Though Skies

Dom would have to be deaf to _not_ have heard the soft sounds of distress and the restless turning from the bed in the next room. _A nightmare_ , Dom thought – with some small amount of sympathy. He had his fair share of things he'd rather forget, and dreams that haunted him with skewed views on harsh reality.

It was when the shower came on that he remembered the fact that there weren't any towels in the bathroom. Dom gave into the urge to groan and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He would have to get up, with a little reluctance he did so, going from his bedroom to the laundry room; which was incidentally in front of the bathroom.

Dam waited a moment, hearing the shower run – he thought for a moment he heard tapping on glass. He shook his head and pushed the door open, keeping his eyes firmly to the ground, the towels tucked under his arm. He was determined not to look up, no matter how his imagination taunted him with temptation.

He took one step toward the sink, planning to put the towels there. He heard Harry's indrawn breath, and would have kept his eyes glued to the ground were it not for the fact that something most definitely had _rapped_ on the window. Dom's eyes flew upward with the instinct of a born racer, and there he was.

Water pounded down on him like a punishing downpour of rain, he looked wet and bedraggled and earnestly _pathetic_. His eyes were red and bruised, and Dom felt a swell of protectiveness well up within him. He'd been crying where Dom couldn't hear him, of course Dom knows he'd had a nightmare, knew it was a bad one – but he hadn't thought there would be more tears in the shower; those wounded green eyes flinched away from the sight of Dom.

Showers were for cleansing, a daily ritual of cleanliness; to wash away the tears from nightmares, and rid oneself of the grit (not always physical) of the day.

Even with Harry looking away, Dom didn't dare look down, he'd seen a long flash of pale skin and a scattering of black hairs, and now – now Harry's cheeks (the ones on his face) were looking hot to the touch, like he'd been slapped.

Dom heard an insistent _tap, tap, tap_ against the glass; and because it was glass, and this was the bathroom, he looked to the window.

A very large grey and brown owl looked back at him. Its head tilted as Dom looked at it, as if saying " _well, I'm here, you clearly see me – won't you please let me in_?"...

"Harry…" Dom starts to say, tongue tangling in a pause that stretches into a silence he doesn't know how to bridge.

"Ah, it's for me." Harry doesn't bother with turning the water off, as he keeps his eyes adverted from Dom, so he doesn't notice Dom's eyes widening, seeing his intention; and moves instinctively and swiftly forward. Harry steps out – heedless of the laws of physics (he's never had to obey them before, not really, and has trouble remembering them now) – and when wet skin meets slick tile, Harry inevitably begins to slip, but Dom is there to catch him.

"Easy…" Dom breaths, Harry leans easily on him as he gets his other leg underneath him, as if they've done this before and Harry had known all along that Dom would be there to catch him. There is something else he wanted to say, but for the life of him, he can't recall it.

It doesn't change the fact that Harry is naked and wet in his arms, slender fingers clenching and tangled into his shirt; nails scratching at his skin though thin cloth. Vivid green eyes narrow to his whole world and limp wet strands of wild black hair are tangled in his fingers.

Harry's mouth opens with a breath, to speak, to sigh, but the tongue peeking out between his lips is too tempting. Dom leans down to kiss them; the touch is soft despite Harry's stubble, their lips barely pressing, Dom breaths in and Harry smells of soap and damp and something wilder that Dom has never encountered in a city.

Dom's other hand holds Harry's hips in place against his, to steady him, to urge him to do more – Dom doesn't know his own intentions. Not with Harry pressed against him, nude as the day he was born, with a sweet blush across his tanned cheeks.

The owl Dom will always remember, ruined – or saved – things.

It shrieked, impatient, or it had a death wish. Dom glared at it as if expecting it to drop dead.

"What's that in its talons?" A thick white envelope takes the place of the folded leg of the owl, as it stands patiently on one foot. Dom didn't think that owls do that naturally, but maybe it's some sort of trick, for its fairly obvious this owl is kept by someone.

Harry gives him a sideways glance, a smile playing at his lips _. City-boy_ , that teasing look says.

"Won't know that unless you let me go over there, will I?" Harry asks in turn, his words shaking Dom out of the sensations. It's pleasant, but distracting. For a moment Dom doesn't know if _that_ thought was meant for Harry's words, or Harry's body against his.

Dom slowly lets Harry go; he'd been unaware of his hand on Harry's hips, his arm around Harry's shoulders where his hand tangled in longer hair then boys who looked pretty ought to have. He hadn't really wanted to let go, either.

Harry moves like a predator toward the bird, sleek and skilled. Dom is surprised this bird, which is supposed to be a wild animal, doesn't shy away because of instinct. Harry opens the window while the owl waits, and fearlessly outstretches his hand for the letter which the owl gives over to Harry without turning its head away from Dom's stare.

Its body turns around, yet it keeps _looking_ at him, its head is somehow twisted behind it as it looks over its shoulder at Dom. It's very eerie, and Dom is almost entirely certain the owl is doing it on propose. Just to creep him out for some sort of sick owl-like humor.

When Dom blinks, the owl is gone from the window sill.

From beside him, Harry stifles a sound that could very well be the beginnings of a laugh.

"Don't worry; Blodwedd doesn't take well to anyone at the first meeting." Dom, once he makes sense of the word – and realizes it's the _name_ of the owl that sounds like 'blood-wed', finds himself shrugging, why would he care if a _owl_ liked him?

Harry breaks a black wax seal with a crest of a dog and a stag with a lightning bolt parting them, and while Dom knows nothing of the customs of people living overseas, it strikes him as a romantically old fashioned gesture. The paper isn't from a printer- and neither is it 'letter paper' with lines, and yet the letters elegantly scripted there are the work of freehand, the letters running a straight line across the page.

At first sight, the words are so artful looking; Dom can't make heads or tails of it. Little words jump out at him, they catch his eye because they are so unfamiliar to what Dom knows that they don't make sense.

Then it doesn't matter, because Harry turns the paper away, aware now that Dom had been looking at the letter as an oddity – not out of an urge to invade his privacy anymore then it has already.

It's pretty bad that Dom doesn't know when that line between privacy and personal started to blur with Harry; he doesn't know if there are anymore such lines to cross. Dom isn't a bad guy, criminal? Yes, but not _bad_. Laws, after all, are written by governments, and governments are corrupt and filthy things feeding off people who haven't really a choice between two evils.

"Bit of an inside joke…" Harry says, absently, as his eyes skim over the letter and Dom had to shake his head, to realize that Harry was still aware of him, and was talking to him, to distract him. Maybe.

"Blood wed?" Dom says the owl's name the only way he can, because his mouth can't form the name any other way, like Harry's mouth can. And perhaps it isn't the best idea, to be thinking of Harry's mouth and lips and tongue with the young man standing beside him without a stitch of clothing on.

"Yeah…" Harry says softly in agreement, distantly. His eyes are far away, as they skim over the parchment in his hands. Dom has to wonder what it is he remembers, why it gives him such a look, but he doesn't dare ask aloud, he doesn't know Harry nearly so well as that. He wonders if he ever will.

"What's the joke?" Dom decides to ask, when Harry is folding the parchment up and tucking it into the envelope. He tucks it behind the sink knob, and glances at Dom in the mirror, flashing a grin full of white teeth as he answers.

"Inbreeding." Dom's eyes flinch away from Harry's in the mirror, even as his own rough laugh echoes in his ears.

He leaves the towels on the sink, feeling big and clumsy and maybe a little stupid, standing beside Harry, shaking his head as if it's at that twisted logic and sense of humor that goes in the naming of an owl. Dom does wonder though, how much truth there is to it; inbreeding and blood weddings, what sort of world was it that Harry raised in, and grew up knowing?

Absently, without a thought to consciences or second-guesses, Dom claps Harry on the shoulder.

"Well let's hope it doesn't come to that, then, to get you out of this mess." Dom means the bike and the bill that Letty is even now likely calculating, but something in the way Harry tenses is shoulders beneath Dom's hand makes Dom think of Harry's nightmares, of his running away, of his unthinking disregard to the laws of physics.

Harry seems to try to smile, but his eyes are distant with memory, and that haunted –hunted - look, like Harry expected to see people, or the ghosts of those people, that just weren't _there_ in the corner of his eyes. It was strange, that Dom hated that look, now, when it had been one of the first things that had drawn him to Harry in the first place.

"There isn't any need; I have a godson, my Heir." It was the same claim that Sirius Black had offered, and Harry hadn't known enough about the world he was growing up in to know what that meant. Those words meant about the same to Dom as they had to Harry then.

"What's his name?" Dom asks, earnestly curious after having overhearing part of the phone call to 'Dromeda. Harry had known he'd heard part of it, and had kept his side as normal sounding as he could – a rich runaway calling in his due wealth. Or perhaps something of that like.

"Teddy Lupin, he was a baby when I left, old enough to talk and walk now." There is a helpless sort of regret in Harry's voice, and Dom knows that Harry won't run away anymore, come what may. Dom almost wishes, thought he doesn't know why, that he _hadn't_ heard such determination in Harry.

Harry will face what comes now, where he wouldn't before, his past, which he had warned Dom would come hunting him; the past which Harry fled from, that Dom wouldn't turn him away for.

"What was your dream about?" Dom doesn't know why the words slipped out now, when he had determined not to speak of it. Harry watches him for a long moment in the mirror, as if he can't turn and face Dom.

"Memories, for the most part." Dom doesn't have anything to say to that, so he leaves Harry there in the bathroom, as the word's fade from his ears – they ring in his memory like bells.

It was one answer to the riddle of Harry Potter; his memories were bad enough to be the sort of nightmares that would make most dread _waking_. Dom had to wonder what kept him going, if it was only the urge to flee, for Harry certainly had much within his own mind to run from; yet the irony in that was that was what Dom know the truth of well.

 _You can't outrun yourself_ , Dom thinks, and goes to the kitchen, where an owl sits on the table – the window left open day and night in hopes of tempting in a breeze.

" _Don't worry; Blodwedd doesn't take well to anyone at the first meeting_." Harry's words come back to haunt him, as does his remembered uncaring shrug.

Blodwedd glares, suspicious and distrusting.

Apparently he _should_ care, rather a lot.


	7. Secrets Swept Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own “Harry Potter” or “The Fast and the Furious” (2001).
> 
> Note: one should never stalk artists. *amused* they have potent curses of dreaded author’s block. 
> 
> I started writing this in ’08, and a lot has happened, I haven’t seen “Fast & Furious 6”, and with the death of Paul Walker who played Brian O'Conner of the movies, I’m not sure I have the heart to do so yet. 
> 
> About Blodwedd, I found out about it from Think Baby Names, a site I trust about the origin of names and meanings, and liked, not only for the ‘blood wed’ jest of the last chapter, but because it’s “a girl's name is of Welsh origin, and the meaning of Blodwedd is "flower face". Name of a character in the "Mabinogi". She was originally called Blodeuedd, meaning "flower", as she was conjured up out of flowers as a bride. Later, because she betrayed the man, she was transformed into an owl, and her name was changed to Blodeuwedd, meaning "flower face", referring to the markings around the eyes of the owl.”
> 
> I’ve decided to end this at ten chapters, so more should be coming.

Andromeda's handwriting is in loops and swirls, stately and with nobility that would likely have satisfied any born of the pureblood of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. As she must have – Harry realizes, before marrying Edward Tonks…

It reads:

_'Mr. Harry James Potter_

_Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

_Sire of the Potter Line_

_The Boy Who Lived_

_The Chosen One_

_My Dear,_

_Please forgive an old woman her formality, you know well my noble upbringing, and it is better to have it upon paper so you may see for yourself your importance to many. It is not something to be humble about; your achievements are great and should be recorded somewhere to be known to all, least of all you, who refuse largely to take credit. I know it pains you; you would be better off for accepting it instead of this constant moving about._

_It does make it difficult to write to you when I would wish to have words with you._

_Like when a certain grandson of mine, and godson of yours, takes his first steps or loses a tooth. You are missing much of his young life and my last years, and I know you will blame yourself in guilt for this when you have time to reflect and have forgiven yourself for living while others have not._

_Alas, the Lady Luna Lovegood fire-called after you had phoned. She told me where I was to send Blodwedd to find you, as you had neglected to give such instructions. She also says to tell you that "what is bad is not always bad for you"._

_Our most esteemed Minister for Magic had insisted on delivering to you in person the "small fortune" you requested, further, he has taken pains to secure an unspecified amount of time off following this delivery._

_Andromeda Tonks (nee Black)_

_Teddy Lupin'_

Teddy's name is barely recognizable as letters beside Andromeda's elegant script, but Harry thinks it's likely better than most Teddy's age could have managed. Once Andromeda had fancied that Harry and Luna might raise Teddy together, he guessed she still had hopes to that end.

Still it troubled Harry, who the Minister of Magic that would arrive was. He – or she – had been unnamed in Andromeda's letter, and likely for good reason, Andromeda did nothing without thinking about it.

Harry did not think that the name of the Minister of Magic had simply slipped from her mind. Harry hadn't kept up with news from the world he had left behind, his issues of the Daily Prophet – had he kept them up – would have chased after him over seas and skies and countries too long to cross by walking. It simply wasn't worth the trouble.

Her other words, her praise of him, and her plea for his return, he'd grown numb at the sight of. It was not the first such letter he had gotten from her – or others, and he knew how she – they – felt, it was only that he didn't know how he felt, how he could cope in a world that had given and taken so much of who he was and who he had loved.

He talks to Dom in part to keep thinking of what to say, so he doesn't dwell on his nightmares – no, memories. Harry knows what to properly call them now. He smells eggs and sausage being fried and knows that Dom must have retreated to the kitchen, Blodwedd had followed him, flying rather than fleeing, but at least Dom had left him towels.

Harry picked it up and wrapped it about his waist, having grown up with only Aunt Petunia – who having bathed him was not shamed to see his body, but scathingly amused if she had caught a glimpse of his hide. Harry's schooling among muggles had in gym parted the boys from the girls the whole class, and in Hogwarts even Gryffindor's House had parted into room's girls of their year and boys in another year's room. So he thought little – if he thought at all – of the feelings of another, male or female, at seeing so much of his bare flesh.

He goes to the kitchen, the towel Dom had given him tied about his waist, and finds amongst the mess paper and pen, because Andromeda writes to him, knowing his kind of curiosity, and that he will answer her as she had him.

_'Lady Andromeda Black-Tonks,_

_I'm staying with a muggle, what do you mean by sending me an owl? I thought my call by telephone would warn you. Too late now, what should I do if he asks?_

_Who is the Minister for Magic?_

_Yours,_

_H'_

Harry rips it from a bigger sheet of printer paper, and rolls it up and with a rubber band goes to where Blodwedd sits staring at Dom. (His letters are addressed to Dom _inic_ Toretto, from a Mia of the same last name, which means a mother, or a sister, or a wife – and Harry doesn't think it the last, not with Letty's leer.)

"Hey!" Dom warns, as Harry snatches up a finished bit of fried sausage and lets it burn him as he offers it to Blodwedd, who snatches eagerly nearly biting his fingers, and permits Harry to encircle its leg with the rolled bit of paper and rubber band.

"It's all fine, we'll call that a part of my share of breakfast, hm?" Harry strokes Blodwedd encouragingly, keeping his tone gentle as he talks to Dom, letting the owl climb his arm and he leads it to the window, out of which it goes, flying into the still dark sky, though to the east the sun creeps skyward.

It strikes him than, that Andromeda and Teddy (for she'd never leave her grandson behind) and maybe Luna and surely the Minister for Magic are near.

Harry can not help but laugh as he watches Blodwedd fly too far for his eyes to follow.

They were likely only waiting for Blodwedd to return, so they would know exactly where to find him.

"I wasn't worried about _shares_ , Harry, you could have been badly burnt." Dom looks to Harry's fingers as if expecting blisters to suddenly boil up. Harry hides his smile, remembering his Aunt telling him once that a watched pot never boils, and though his skin feels red and tender, they don't feel stiff and he knows he was lucky.

"Well then, make enough for…hmm, perhaps four more and one of them a growing boy, I've no doubt they'll be joining us this morning." Harry waves to the open window, as if to prove his point, but at that oddity of Harry's Dom only shakes his head.

"You'd better go and get dressed then." Dom warns, turning his attention back to his frying, but Harry takes advice to heart pulling from his duffle a red shirt and a pair of black jeans and his brown leather jacket from yesterday.

"Done…!" He says inanely, twirling for Dom as if to prove himself fully clothed. Dom smirks up at him with a short look.

"Will you need a washer and dryer?" Dom asks, knowing well how rough the road can be on clothes, and while he isn't the housekeeper of the year, Mia had long ago convinced him of the wisdom of such modern conveniences.

Harry stills and frowns, but Dom does not see his momentary confusion.

"No, not at all, thanks though, did a load of laundry before my bike quit." It's not that Harry doesn't remember what doing laundry was – but he's spelled his clothes clean ever since Molly had given him for a gift a book about cooking and cleaning charms after passing his NEWTS and OWLS.

"Good luck, I guess." Dom says, and Harry hums in agreement knowing that Dom is distracted, he seems to be in his zone and also given the amount he's preparing, taken Harry's warning about visitors to heart (or likes to cook a lot all at once so as to have plenty of leftovers for later).

Harry eyes his surroundings and with nothing to do and Dom distracted decides to do _something_ about the clutter and mess about them. Just to make it a little less…lived in. Harry's kept his wand out of sight by his wrist-halter, and most of the cleaning he does is only with his hands, old fashioned elbow grease, with no fuss of magic to give him away. Of all the laws that his world had had, the one that had made the most sense was not showing-off magic to those that could never have or use it.

So it startles him when Dom whistles at him while he's bent down and picking up coins that have fallen and been forgotten on the floor. Harry had reasoned it was always wise to do so before vacuuming (did Dom own a vacuum? Harry didn't yet know but thinks he will be soon asking).

Harry looks up and straightens, startled, as if he had never been kneeling on another man's floor picking up his loose change. Dom snickers at the wide eyed look Harry gives him, half pleading, and half all innocence.

"Breakfast?" Dom reminds him gently, tapping the table upon which the plates, forks, spoons, knives and food rests -its set for six, and will fit six, if they all squeeze in together.

Harry looks to the window, and the full light of day's dawn, and there is a knock on the door that Dom tosses a startled look towards – it's clear he gets few visitors, and none that come so early in the morning. It also shows Harry that Dom was humoring him, making up so much food and setting it out expecting Harry's prediction to be proven wrong. Dom's look to Harry is unsettled as Harry goes to answer the door, smiling smugly to himself – but letting Dom see it.

Harry does not take kindly to being humored, at root it's the same as being doubted and undetermined. Such things as that had lost Harry the life he could have had, if he'd been believed in more.

Harry Potter opens the door, expecting to see his past looking back at him – instead he sees a squealing blur that latches himself onto Harry gleefully, taking up all his attention.

"Harry!" The blur says in his godson's voice, and Harry can't help the smile that near splits his face.

"Teddy!" Andromeda's tone is not without fondness, though Harry thinks she was trying for scolding.

"Harry, I'm afraid I've told him all about you, understandably he's delighted to be reacquainted." Luna's smile is small, and her soft voice clear of any kind of mischief but Harry isn't fooled that she's untruthful, she's told Teddy everything – and it must have seemed like some kind of magic to Teddy, to get this kind of reaction, to find he has a famous godfather, family outside of his grandmother and great aunt and her family which neither he or Dromeda care much for.

Teddy holds onto Harry tightly, and Harry can't help but hug the little boy back. His godson, like Harry the son of a _Marauder, the last true family Harry has left. He is small and warm and squirming in Harry's grip and against his chest to get a good look at Harry. He grins, missing a few teeth, making his eyes shine green and gold and making his hair wild and black, a mimic of Harry's own appearance on Teddy makes the boy, trying for look-alike, instead look like his son. Harry finds he can't look away._

"Hullo, Harry, it's been a long time." The voice is deep and rich, but gentle, as if he doesn't want to startle Harry. Harry looks to the owner of that voice, knowing who he will find.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, alive, and the Minister for Magic, Harry laughs a bit uncontrollably, overwhelmed but not yet hysterical at seeing the once Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix, who he'd only seen at the start of something awful – or in the aftermath of battle standing before him, across the doorway that marked the threshold of a muggle's home.

"Minister…." Harry nods, and when Kingsley's eyes go past him, to see Dom now standing at Harry's side, the Minister clears his throat.

Seeing the reality of them all, Harry is only sincerely and unspeakably glad that he cleaned up what he could of Dom's clutter, despite his embarrassment at being caught at it and Dom's own amusement for his trouble.

"In answer to your letter, my dear, there has been an amendment to that law which you've been made sadly unaware. It states that if the witch or wizard sleeps in the same home as the muggle, they must be made aware of magic, for their safety – if, say, that muggle was a relation to that witch or wizard or a spouse, well, it's always been left to the witch or wizard to admit about magic – but I think it should be otherwise, and so the Wizengamot agreed to such re-education." Andromeda Tonks smiles at Dom who Harry knows is carefully watching and listening, who has heard every word she's said.

Kingsley catches Harry's eyes, and nods. Andromeda would not be above lying to protect Harry or Teddy, but the Minister for Magic Harry would not ordinarily trust – unless it was Kingsley, and as Luna nods in happy agreement with him, Harry knows that Luna had guessed that – and he wonders how long Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt has been Minister and how much that was due to The Quibbler.

"Harry?" Dom calls and Dom has a right to be answered with truth, a right that their laws now support.

"Do you trust me, Dom?" Harry asks of a man he's barely known for a day, but first impressions are sometimes the only impression and so are important. Dom had helped him, when he could have walked away, he opened his home to Harry and for that Harry would give more than mere and measly thanks. He would give the truth. Harry's told more of the truth to Dom than anyone else in a very long time. And whatever their feelings are now or might be trust is the truest solid start.

"You should know I have trust issues, but, yeah, I trust you – I've wanted to help you since I met you. Let's just…eat breakfast, okay?" It's a place to start, and though Dom has never seen magic with own eyes he sees it when a little boy with green eyes looks right at him and those eyes wink closed and open brown as Dom's own.

Dom leads them all inside, wizards and witches, and because Harry with Teddy in his arms follows him, they come in and sit down around a suddenly small table to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …I sneezed an’ bit my tongue. I think someone is cursing me…. –evil giggles-….


	8. Clutching At Clouds

_'They could all be crazy'_ Dom tries to tell himself, a tad more self mocking than reassuring. He knows Harry is no crazier than Dom, and while Dom has not always made the best or wisest choices he could have - he's not crazy. Some might argue that point, but Dom knew himself too well to second guess himself that way. In plenty of other ways, sure, he wasn't perfect after all. He'd once thought he knew all he wanted out of life – now, now he wasn't so sure, now that he had a second chance at it.

It seemed to now to him as he ate that that second chance had opened up a broader world than he'd ever dared guess to.

"So, magic, and you are all…witches and wizards?" Dom had watched them eat the sausage and eggs and bacon and toast he'd made, and they ate food normally, with forks and knives and spoons. There was no floating food to their mouths or saving a knocked over glass from spilling, they were all very polite and quiet – so much so that Dom didn't even know if they had enjoyed what they had so silently eaten.

Dom was used to a different kind of manner of people, rougher and courser and perhaps better off in their honest ways than these foreigners. Foreign in more ways than country, but by what they were – no less human for it – he supposed, but it made a difference, the haves and the have-nots in life. Hard enough to deal with the hand life had dealt from birth as it was, and now to see and hear words he'd never thought to, magic, wizards, witches and the stuff of fantasy and the fantastic – well, it was hard to swallow.

Dom absently reached for the golden cross that had hung about his neck, he rubbed at it to sooth himself, the bubbling upset at the unfairness in both birth and death, its cold metal numbed his skin and he imagined it helpful to his soul.

Perhaps it was too little to late, perhaps not. He recalled biblical verses about not suffering a witch to live, about homosexuality being a sin like any other, and about stoning those that sinned in adultery. But better was that he remembered his mother and father telling him that god loved all sinners, no one was beyond his forgiveness if they asked for it, and Dom should concern himself more with his own sins, but to love his neighbor as he loved himself.

Dom had gotten his second chance and felt forgiven for the sins of the past, although the law would not see it as so simple.

"Well, _yes_ , what are you?" Teddy asked as only a little boy could, as if he couldn't think of anyone being other than what he was like. Dom didn't know for sure if this was Teddy, but he was pretty sure Harry wouldn't let any child sit in his lap at breakfast, so it was most likely his godchild.

"Muggle, Teddy, he is a muggle, born without magic - like your grandfather – my husband's parents. Like the grandparents of your godfather's mother." The formidable woman who must be Harry's godson's grandmother –Dom was sure now - Dromeda (as Harry had called her on the phone) answered, with a small smile for Dom as if to forgive the little boy his curiosity. Dom did not mind it, he had questions of his own he wanted answered and the curiosity burning within him to be asked.

"Is that why your laws changed?" Dom asked softly, he hadn't realized that muggles – normal people without magic (muggle, like they'd been mugged of the gift) had born magical – wizard and witch – children.

"In part, yes - many of us have our roots in muggle blood, and it is also our way to honor them now. It's a curious thing, magic; some are born with it and some without it. Witches and wizards born to those without magic, yes, that happens more and more often. Perhaps it always had and we simply didn't know to look for them in the past. Yet there are also children born to witch and wizard who are squib, without magic, who aren't a witch or wizard." The blond witch with wide silvery grey eyes spoke, those eerie eyes wandering about the inside of Dom's home as if she could see everything about him on the walls of it. It was unnerving, yet he knew by her calm and soothing tones that she knew her affect upon others and yet meant no harm in what she said or did.

The man that Harry had called Minister cleared his throat – a title, not name Dom felt almost positive despite how odd wizards and witches might be and their names might be just as strange.

Dom had a feeling that the title of Minister it had more to do with keeping and governing the 'magical world' than anything to do with the Christian faith.

"Most upsetting though, was when a witch or wizard married a muggle and found they had a magical child, and sometimes that muggle had been told – other times the onset of magic of the child led to the…upsetting…discovery….but there were cases where the child was killed by their muggle parent or the young witch or wizard killed their muggle parent, or the magical parent and child kept the muggle parent in the dark with spells and deceit. Also the placement of orphan witches and wizards, Luna has opened her house to them – and some are being adopted too. A magical child isn't trained in their magic at that time and accidents are more readily prone to occur, sometimes with heartbreaking results. It was that that we sought to put an end to, and we think the law is working toward that." Dom could imagine something like that happening all too easily; after all he only had to turn on the news to hear about such sins of non-magical nature that sickened him worse.

Harry swallowed, Teddy still in his lap – eating from the plate beside Harry's own, but when Harry had swallowed like a sob, Teddy sensed it and turned to engulf his godfather in a hug patting his back awkwardly soothing. Harry smiled like he'd never seen Teddy and was in awe of him and ruffled his black and blue streaked hair fondly.

It was clearly a sensitive topic, and Harry's reaction Dom blamed upon his nightmares, his memories, newly woken to and raw upon his nerves. Dom didn't like it that they – these witches and wizard that came from the shadows of Harry's past waltzed in to see Harry like this, hurting.

It made him clench his hand on his fork, a hand touched his, patting gently and with a barely there touch.

"They are orphans, our hero and his godson." The odd witch with her silver grey eyes smiled at Harry and Teddy and it was something gentle and delicate. Dom knew that she'd seen loss and wasn't afraid to speak of it. She was brave in a strange way that was all her own.

Mia would like her; Dom was sure; bendable, not broken. There were worse role models and Dom had sometimes feared he had been that to Mia no matter that he had tried his best to keep her out of the business he had done illegally.

"Indeed, and they do deserve the best, so tell me how much will we be paying for repairs to Sirius's bike?" Dom took note of the name, he'd heard it more than once now and knew the man's name had to be significant to them still if they – and Harry – referred to the bike as Sirius's it was the same sort of thing that Dom had noticed about himself and Mia and this dad's black 1970 Dodge Charger.

Dom found he was chuckling over the fact that he didn't know the answer to Dromeda's very prim and properly reasonable sounding request, Letty hadn't called back yet with an estimate. Harry caught the cause to his humor and smiled as he answered.

"We aren't sure yet, we haven't gotten an approximate bill…" Dromeda then patted Harry's hand, as if his humor was welcomed and not something to be taken for granted, but indulged.

"Very good my dear, we are more than willing to wait as long as it takes." Dom was glad that breakfast was mostly done with and she hadn't chosen to say something like that when he had food in his mouth. He thought he might have choked, as it occurred to him with her words that they might not have a place to stay.

They'd traveled such a long distance too, he was sure – Harry had mentioned calling her somewhere between Scotland and England. Dom was sure some kind of magic must have been involved in their travel. Surely they all must have come from there. And had traveled here to be with Harry at a drop of an owl-letter and a phone call, it was almost ridiculously far to go for to prepare to get a motorcycle mechanic ready to be paid.

Dom knew Letty well enough to know that by this bunch she'd definitely be doing the work, surer than if Dom had sweet-talked her into it for old time's sake. Letty had already no-good with Harry staying the night with her and Vince for a phone call to get money, and Dom couldn't really blame her.

When Vincent had lost his wife Rosa in childbirth and had needed help with Nico and Letty had seen how Dom had needed his own space to figure out his second chance and what he was going to do with his life.

So she'd moved in with Vince on the pretense of helping Dom's oldest friend out, once the three of them could have been more – but that time was passed and Letty had settled into her life with Nico and Vince like it was the white picket American dream. Dom didn't begrudge her it, was glad to see it actually, because it meant they had their happiness and health. They'd take care of each other, of that Dom didn't doubt.

With Mia going to college, a part of Dom had been a little jealous behind his pride, had wanted better himself now while he had the chance – but the old saying about an old dog and new tricks made him wary.

After all, everyone who was worth something to him knew him for who he was now- who he had always been hadn't changed with this new life, and there were people who were still after him who knew what he had done and could still do and would expect it of him. Dom wasn't going to fool himself – like Harry – he couldn't run forever, the past would catch up with him and it wasn't nearly so pleasant a history as Harry seemed to have with his people's law.

Still it made him wonder, if the good Minister was here in person and friendly and important to that Ministry for Magic – and Harry was some kind of hero with nightmares, it made him wonder how Harry was a hero – why – and what he'd done to become one.

Magic was impressive enough in a wizard or witch to him, but what could impress a witch or wizard? Something big, Dom was betting. Someone who he'd let stay in his home, who he'd welcomed with a room and bed of his own and food to eat – one person Dom could handle, but all of them?

No.

"You can't all stay here until it's fixed." Dom hates to interrupt this cozy reunion over breakfast, and maybe Teddy could stay over with Harry – Dom wouldn't mind that too much, but there was something about Dromeda that set him at ease and he felt sure that the grandmother of Harry's godson wasn't going to let Teddy stay where she wasn't welcome.

"Of course we won't invade your home that way, my dear, why, we do not even know your name." Dromeda smiled at Harry with a raised brow, Dom felt sure she was saying something to Harry silently about the company he was keeping. What that something was he could guess.

"Why, you are right! How rude of us to barge into your home without any introduction, and how good of you to keep us despite such strange introductions. I'm Luna Lovegood." Dom felt sure that she was the Luna the Minister had mentioned, taking in little witch and wizard orphans like Harry had been, like Teddy was – though he lived with his grandmother. Dom still had to wonder what had happened to his parents, and who they had been to Harry, but he didn't dare ask yet. He was hoping for an answer that would fall like a miracle into his lap.

"Andromeda Black nee Tonks, my daughter Nymphadora married to Remus Lupin – a good friend of Harry's father James Potter and mother Lily, had Teddy – they named him for my husband Edward, but they perished fighting on Harry's side of our war." Dom listened to every word Andromeda – not Dromeda, which was perhaps her preferred nickname among close family and friends – said, and tucked it away.

Harry, Dom at least knew now was a war-hero, from a war among wizards and witches – and people he had cared about had doubtlessly died in it, it sounded like a personal war, but among a people that cut themselves off from the world so much so they referred to their own as part of the 'magical world' what else could be expected?

"The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt." Dom nodded to him, wary of law enforcing and government as he was, Kingsley had no reason to suspect him of any wrong. Dom now knew more about their pasts than they did of his. He suspected they thought a deeper relationship between Harry and he than was the reality, that Harry had only been here a night, just for someplace to stay and likely leave after things were settled between he and Andromeda.

"Dominic Toretto, call me Dom though." Kingsley's lips twitched and Dom became keenly aware of how close the wizard assumed Harry and he were, Dom knew now about certain sexual habits involving dominate and submissive partners, but the name Dom had been his before he'd learned the other meanings of his nickname, but it had meant Dom like a the old mafia Dons.

He couldn't help the heat that came to his cheeks at Kingley's kinky smirk, which in the other man's eyes Dom was sure made him think he was right. He wasn't, but there would be no telling him that now. He wouldn't believe it. Dom looked to Harry and counted his star as lucky, Harry had been paying more mind to Teddy than to the late introductions.

For now, to Dom's growing complex feelings, Harry remained unaware.


	9. Four Corners to Cross

"Where _are_ you staying?" Harry had stood up as he spoke, letting Teddy down, although the boy stuck so close to Harry that it made real no difference. Seeing the child and Harry together, Dom was reminded of the sun and the shadows its brightness cast. Dom watched as Harry gathered up his own dishes and Luna followed his example, snatching up used dishes s if they might be taken away.

When she tried it with Andromeda Tonk's dishes, Dom saw why, seeing what Luna and Harry were attempting and with a roll of her eyes the older witch had reached into her sleeve and with a stick tapped the dishes she had used clean before Dom's eyes. He hadn't looked away or blinked and knew what he had seen was real as anything else.

Andromeda smiled at Luna sweetly, and the younger witch sighed and looked to Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost pleading, but the older wizard shrugged and smiled sheepishly and Dom saw plainly that he had followed Andromeda's lead – perhaps when Dom had been distracted at her display of cleaning magic. Luna _tsked_ at them as if the two older adults were naughty children.

"Some subtly, please, we do not want to attract _too_ much attention with wild Elves perhaps roaming these parts." Luna looked to the cleaned dishes with something like distaste. What elves had to do with dishes, Dom couldn't guess at. He mouthed the word, and Kingsley smirked and mouthed back, _'ask Harry'_. Of course he would.

"Teddy, please take care of _these_." The little boy looked over at her with silver grey eyes like Luna's own and nodded and without moving from where he stood by Harry at the sink, the cleaned dishes flew into the air and cupboards opened and they were stacked neatly away and out of sight.

"Thank you, child…." Andromeda nodded to her grandchild, who winked at her behind Luna's back.

Luna turned away from the table, walking with her back to them and head held high, miffed but settling at Harry's side, washing while he was drying. Or at least that was what Dom thought they were doing; perhaps they used magic and only blocked the sight of it from him by their bodies. Water was running though. So he could hope that dishes were getting done in the ordinary way.

"We are staying in the most fascinating location, abandoned cliff dwellings, of the Anasazi perhaps, or are they called Hisatsinom? The Pueblo call them Ancestors, though…" As Andromeda fell into musing about it, Dom's throat went dry.

"Do they know?" He felt a sick sort of dread slithering down, and some of that feeling must have shown on his face. He hated the thought of them messing about some place like that without anyone the wiser. Dom just didn't know who should know – or approve – but Minister Shacklebolt took one puzzled look at his face and seemed to understand at once.

"Oh, yes, of course we asked the tribe – how could we not? The ghosts there would have driven us out otherwise. Muggles may not see them, but we do. Andromeda has a certain expertise in history and language, and being a witch the ghosts interact with her more readily – most tribes we are finding had magic, but it has started to fade from them as it faded from us overseas. A most interesting puzzle, Andromeda claims." Kingsley's smile was a tad indulging and Dom had to wonder if the Minister had feelings for her, like Dom's own for Harry. Andromeda's small secretly pleased smile told him she did know, and shared the same feeling.

"Do you think it's related?" Dom asked, and Andromeda nodded firmly.

"I'm sure of it, patterns and flute music spoke to their magic, to them, in the same way words and wands stir us, it's the same harmony underneath, so perhaps the magic is what shifted it's pattern and we were left scrabbling to make sense of it - what works to call magic now was different for them, for us now. I wonder if it would work for squibs, for muggles? To call magic with patterns and flute music rather than words and wands…would it work for those we think without magic?" Andromeda, Dom thought, was used to talking to people whom she didn't expect to truly listen, but Kingsley and Luna would – and do more than listen, they would try to convince others to do something they wouldn't think to work.

"It is well worth attempting." Luna thoughtfully agreed, her earlier upset seemingly forgotten. It was, however, to Kingsley that Andromeda looked, whose thoughtful nod she took to heart.

"What would cause magic to shift like that, grandma?" Teddy asked, looking face to face at each of the older witches and wizards. He worried one day he wouldn't have magic – or that they wouldn't, and what that would do to them. If it was so distressing to the child, Dom didn't doubt it was a much used aspect in their lives – to be without it nearly painful. What must they think – or feel – seeing in their own ways that Dom, a muggle, had feelings for Harry?

"A great wizard – or witch's spell, perhaps…." Luna mused, tapping her wand to her chin. Dom watched her with some wariness wondering if there was any danger in doing that. Luna was the only witch –or wizard – that tucked her wand behind her ear or into her hair like a fashion statement.

"Don't worry, Teddy, no one can take your magic, but if you lose your wand – when you get one – it might be hard to find it again." Harry reassured Teddy at the boy's look of alarmed worry; he handed off the last dish to Luna who after drying it gave it to Teddy to put away. Which the boy did with magic, but no wand, he did it effortlessly, which meant that putting dishes away by magic was simply easy or Dom was looking at one of those great wizards to-be.

The phone rang, sudden and surprising. Harry startled, walking to the ringing on instinct, his fingers curling toward his wrist and though it was hidden, his wand – if no one had known what to look for they wouldn't have known that Harry had felt threatened by the clanging bell tones.

"Hullo?" He answered it abruptly, with sharpness like poison.

"Oh, Letty…hey, yeah, oh, about my bike? Uh-huh, that much huh? No, it shouldn't be a problem now. Thanks. You want to come over? Uh, let me ask Dom?" Harry looked to Dom, who nodded, curious to what Letty could want calling so early and coming over. It couldn't simply be for the fee.

"He agrees with you coming over, oh, with more company, should be fine. I think I can get the money to you when you come over, that alright? See you soon, bye." Harry hung up, looking like a whirlwind hit him, but Letty was like that, a force of nature all by herself.

"Should we go, dear?" Andromeda asked of Harry gently, and he thoughtfully nodded.

"When the time comes, it might be for the best." None of them looked surprised at his words.

"Will you be coming to visit?" Teddy asked, pleadingly, and because it was Teddy, Harry couldn't help but agree. It was interesting, this soft spot Harry had for his godson and Dom wondered how Harry would fare with Nico, Vince's boy. It seemed right that Harry care for children, the future, a future Harry had fought a war for.

"Of course I will, we both will, won't we...?" Harry looked to Dom, and Dom hid a smile at the look of a man determined to go down with others if he must fall into a trap. Dom didn't have to be asked to go with Harry, he was barely getting that choice – it was assumed he'd do it, and it wasn't an assumption that Dom would break Harry of making.

"It's a sure thing." Dom reassured both Harry and Teddy of the future visit; Harry didn't look pleased so he had perhaps hoped that Dom might disagree with going along and so gotten them out of it somehow, but Dom wasn't worried about that at the sight of Teddy's delighted grin and shining blue eyes.

There was a knock at the door and Harry exchanged looks with Kingsley and Andromeda, who motioned for Teddy to join her – which the boy did so, clasping her outstretched hand tightly. Dom had a wild thought that they might all sneak out the back door or through a window, but before his eyes with small pops of displaced air like bubble-wrap popping they were gone.

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it – and he wondered if that was how they had gotten to his front door too. Of all of them, only Luna was left and she smiled at Harry, something firm about it that showed that she hadn't agreed to go – and wouldn't.

"Luna…" Harry began to say something, as Dom stood to go to the door and answer it, letting them say what they needed to in the kitchen where there was a pretense of privacy.

"Don't you want to pay her for the work she will do for you, Harry?" Dom could hear Luna say, sounding puzzled.

"Yes, but…" Harry's voice was hushed, worried.

"Then I meet her, Harry, it's as simple as that – I can tell if someone is fooling you, you are great and a hero, but there is much about people in this world you are blind to, bad – and good." Luna was thoughtful and sad, but wouldn't be swayed.

"Have it your way." At his words, Dom opened the door – to Letty, and Vince holding Nico like a offering….and Mia, but behind her, attempting to perhaps hide, not knowing Dom had opened the door and running his hands through his already messy blond hair was Brian O'Conner.

"Well, well, this is a surprise." Dom mused aloud as he stared at the former LAPD cop and FBI agent, hearing him Brian turned to look at him, face to face, little about Brian had truly changed.

"Hello to you too, Dom…how are you? Oh, good to hear - my day is going fine, surprise after surprise…" Letty's sarcasm was heavy but deserved.

"I didn't know you were keeping in contract." Dom looked to his little sister, who widened her eyes mischievously.

"You didn't? But, big brother - I've been telling Letty _everything_." If there was a little flirt to Mia's words as she looked over her shoulder to Brian, Dom pretended he hadn't heard it from his sister, pretended too that Brian didn't get flushed as if sunburned.

"I was supposed to keep Dom in the loop? Oops." Letty grinned ear to ear, not sorry in the least.

From the kitchen, Luna giggled, she stood in the entrance while Harry had followed behind her. He looked a little shocked to see so many people turn up, but Dom figured turn about was fair – he'd met Harry's people – now Harry would meet his.

"Who's this?" Mia was quick to ask, as if a pouncing cat upon a hidden mouse.

"Luna Lovegood, I was a school friend of Harry's – we were in a club together that kept us all in touch– but I manage accounts at our bank and publish a small news press. How much will this cost our Mr. Potter?" She was either a master at lying or all of it was true. Harry hadn't blinked or looked surprised at a bit of it, so it was true as far as Harry knew.

Letty rattled off a amount that didn't have Luna blinking, but had Brian looking between them as if worried about something illegal and thinking like a cop. Luna only stared at Letty for a bit – unnerving, and looked to Harry, Luna nodded and simply smiled at Letty in a way that wasn't quite all there. Letty shivered at that look, feeling as if Luna looked right into her.

"Done, of course, sorry for all this fuss…" Luna reached into her robe's pocket and pulled out a wad of cash thick - a bit crumpled, but American, she counted it out carefully and put it on the kitchen table, and from another pocket came a thick paper and feathered thing – she put the paper on the kitchen table, put feather to paper, signed her name and the amount – and passed money and paper and feather all to Letty who'd watched all of what Luna did with a disbelief that bordered denial.

"Sign, please." Letty looked down at the paper, and read it out loud.

"What's this? _'Lord Harry James Potter-Black has paid Leticia Ortiz'_ – how do you know my name? -' _the full amount listed below for services as yet rendered, if finished the amount will be fully Ms. Ortiz, or if unfinished will be returned in part, sign below with name and date and amount'_? What kind of receipt or legal-speak is this?" Letty none the less counted the cash, and signed it as Luna had done.

"The very best, I assure you. You've no need to worry; it is only that goblins are greedy. I will be overseeing the work you do, just to satisfy them." Luna winked, as if sharing a secret – which she was, but not one that Letty would understand. Luna took back the paper Letty had signed, while Letty kept a firm hold on the money. Luna hummed as she walked out the front door, and Vince closed it behind her.

"You're a Lord? Of what..?" Letty turned to Harry, demanding, wanting answers to reassure to the reality of the money she held.

"It's hereditary to my family, the Potters and the Blacks, and I can call on those resources they hold when it's necessary, in turn I would protect those interests against others with my life. It's all quite boring and tame now a day, though." Harry's eyes danced with amusement, but his expression did not waver from sincerity.

"If you say so…." Vince muttered looking after the closed front door as if it was the only thing that saved him from crazy and confusing banking girls.

"Maybe this isn't the best time…" Brian looked to Mia – and then to Letty, and swallowed, as he was caught between the two and wasn't going get away with anything – or away from.

"Ask, _now_." Letty smiled and Vince smirked at Brian knowingly. Dom was getting quickly tired of feeling as if he was in a crowded room and the surprise would either be people about to either burst into song with a cake or start shooting shit up.

"Dom, I would like your blessing, Dom, please." Brian pleaded, looking at Dom as if he was a dying man and only Dom could save him.

"My blessing for what…?" Dom asked cautiously, wary of what Letty and Mia had set at his doorstep, between the twp he didn't know which smiled more smugly.

"M-marriage, me – me to Mia?" Dom lowered his head so he couldn't be caught smirking, as Brian sounded as if he was asking Dom if that's who he was marrying.

"Oh? You're sure now are you?" Dom let his voice lower and deepen, almost a growl. It was the only way to hide his amusement.

"Yes, please, Dom?" Brian fidgeted, and Dom had to put the poor boy who was to be his brother-in-law out of his misery or he might get on his knees and ask, and that was a sight that Mia would never let them live down. Mia should be the only one to whom Brian kneeled to today.

Dom put his hands on Brian's tensed shoulders and pulled him in close by his neck.

"You remember what I said the first time?" Dom sure did, that threat that if Brian hurt Mia – Dom would break Brian's neck – a neck Dom held by his hands. The blond, startled and pale and shaking like a colt about to bolt, nodded hurriedly.

"Well, you keep remembering it, alright, and welcome to the family, brother." Dom hugged him, until Brian's shakes turned to laughter.

"I thought you were going to kill me." Brian muttered as Dom let him go to stand next to Mia who took his hand. Brian didn't lean against her, but he let her lead him to the kitchen and past Harry to sit at the table.

"So did I…hey, think he still might?" Vince muttered musingly to Letty, who shook her head, both were smiling and little Nico had caught the mood and clapped happily.

"Nah, there are too many witnesses… how do you do, m'Lord?" Letty nodded pointedly to Harry, as if to nobility, who along with it, bowing to her. Seeing him playfully bending over for her, it made Dom wonder what they would look like together, he didn't dislike it – but Dom admitted he would prefer Harry bowing over him, under him, just Harry and him.

Dom preferred women for their soft skin and curves and warmth. He still did, he always would _like_ women - but that wasn't to say that he couldn't think of men, Harry bare against him, skin hot between rough scars and smooth muscle, if he would be an eager lover or hesitant. That made Dom hot to think of.

He had wondered a lot about Harry, now and since first meeting him at a bar - if he'd had a woman before, like Dom – or a man, or if the war had kept him too busy to be with either. If that might be why Harry seemed not to notice Dom like Dom had taken to seeing him. Dom knew the only way to find out was to ask, because like Luna he could tell a liar from an honest man.

Harry stood up from his bow, smiling and met Dom's dark eyes, and Dom saw curious heat kindled in them. He wouldn't have to humble himself to ask – that was plain, but it would pay to keep in mind how well Harry kept his feelings hidden from those who didn't know what to look for and find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Four Corners' of the chapter title refers to the area where Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah meet – in the United States it's the only place you find four state-lines meeting like that. Most of it belongs to the Native Americans and it's in that area that cliff-dwelling sites can be found, some of them which are still in use, some of which can be toured.


	10. Home is the Heart

They gathered together in the kitchen and Harry was reminded of Molly Weasley, and how in the Burrow the heart of their home had been the kitchen, Molly's domain. It was hearth and home, where meals were made and served to keep the family healthy and whole.

Surrounded as Harry was with people, mostly strangers who had taken him in with more warmth than friendship could claim to, it didn't hurt so badly to remember the family that had all but adopted him, welcomed him in with open arms (despite the danger they must have known would follow him) and how he'd chosen them as his kin in turn. Ginny could have been his wife, if she'd had her say.

Harry smiled, briefly looking to Letty and Mia – in this home there wouldn't be such a neat fix.

"Did you _clean_ in here?" Vince asked of Dom, his tone incredulous, knowing Dom's habits – and giving voice to them as only the best of friends could. At his words Letty and Mia looked around, Letty looking suspiciously to Harry who avoided her dark gaze by looking to the table he sat at among them. He stared at the wood, its whirls and circles marking it as true wood. Those shapes within the wood were much like ruins; the ancient written word of magic, that Harry couldn't help but think that by such patterns in nature words must have been born.

Harry wondered what kind of wood it was, perhaps holly as his wand had once been, or related to vine wood like Hermione - or the ash that Ron had had. It was bitter sweet, the memory of them, but growing more sweet than bitter year by passing year.

That too was in part what Harry had run from so far, forgetting any part of them, the bitter with the sweet, it was painful to close his eyes and not recall the shape of Hermione's nose, what shade of red was Ginny's hair, or the freckles on Ron's face.

Day by day he lost bits and pieces of them; until Harry feared that all would be left of them were shadowed memories and names with vaguely recalled faces. Moving portraits and pictures were all well and good, but they weren't the living person – only an echo of memories given the words and appearance, like a _Pensieve anyone_ passing could glimpse.

Harry could not bring himself to see them like that, not yet – yet he felt alone in that wish, in his own world the halls of Hogwarts and nearly all the walls of homes of wizard and witch alike had such moving portraits, to remember heroes. There were many reasons that Harry had left the magical world, which like his memories were bitter – and sweet.

There were things that Harry had seen that he felt he would never be clean of, and doing housework was much simpler, keeping his mind occupied by tasks, one goal at a time – and anyone who would judge him for it or begrudge a man helping clean house wasn't worth much in Harry's eyes.

"No…" Dom answered his friend, with a look to Harry. Vince could guess from that look, which of them had to be cleaning things up. Harry looked up from the table top and met Vince's eyes, held them, as if daring Dom's friend to mock him.

"Yes, actually, if I'm to be spending my time here and Dom doesn't object," at that Mia snorted and Dom ducked his head with a smirk. "I'll spend my time as I like, cleaning, cooking, reading, riding…." Harry shrugged, trailing off with a shrug, not glancing away from Vince.

Vince wasn't that stupid, if he wanted to keep peace under his own roof – which besides his son and Letty now held Mia and Brian, he wasn't about to object to a man doing work around the house. That wasn't his objection to begin with.

Harry was Dom's _guest_ – not friend, or family, but a stranger who had needed a place to go for a night and Dom had opened his doors. It didn't matter much to Vince if Harry was paying for the privilege however he and Dom did or did not work that out, but a guest didn't work in a house they stayed in - that to Vince was a bit like slavery or servants.

"You're his guest, man, you're paying Letty for the bike and Letty will probably give Dom money for a loan or to borrow or he'll ask me sometime – so it sort of doesn't sit right, you know?" Vince shifted in the wooden chair feeling as if it might as well be hard as metal and cold as ice.

He knew Brain was looking to him and Mia trading looks with Letty, and he didn't dare look to see Dom's reaction yet – he kept his eyes on Harry as he struggled to explain what he'd never quite put into words before.

"I wasn't asked to help around the house, but I can appreciate your concern. I'll not let myself get taken advantage of." Harry didn't smile, but his green eyes squinted in mirth at Vince. He'd guessed it was something like that, but wizards and witches had had an older system of barter and trade before they'd settled for trying goblin coins for goods. Harry had found Molly knew the older system better than the coined kind, and that was how older families had found themselves at a loss with changes – and why Arthur had looked closely to muggles to see how they managed it.

"Well, now that _that's_ settled. Let's have drinks?" Dom offered, with a glance to his refrigerator and cupboards. Dom and Brian got up, headed toward them, but were halted by what Harry said next.

"It's best if we don't have anything alcoholic." Harry looked to Mia, who nodded when Dom looked to her - and Brian frowned in puzzlement.

"Why?" Brian asked, blunt and confused by the look on Letty's face and the careful calm on Vince's features. Dom laughed, and Vince relaxed as it was clear that Brian hadn't known and wasn't marrying Mia because of her pregnancy, which Dom might object to as it could lead to resentment between the two later. No one could – or should - keep a couple together that loved each other but could not live together, certainly not a child.

"How did you know…?" Mia asked of Harry, she'd told Letty, but had wanted to wait till Brian had asked Dom before she told either her brother or fiancé that she – they –were now expecting a baby. She hadn't wanted the knowledge to push either of them, one way or another. There was time before she showed, and she was curious to know Harry could know so certainly and meeting her for the first time.

"Just a lucky guess, I guess." Harry tried to not make much of it, shrugging one shoulder as if the question was only an unpleasant itch. Dom's glance at him showed how he wasn't fooled, and knew somehow Harry had a way of knowing – on top of his being a wizard with all its wand waving and magic words.

"Do you have the baby's name picked out yet?" Harry asked of Mia, teasing, she looked to Brian and then to Dominic, and nodded.

"Jack, I think, for my dad." Mia watched her brother's reaction with care; it was to look to Brian, as if to check that Brian wasn't going to argue with Mia's choice.

"Better your old man then mine, Mia." Dom clasped his hand on Brian O'Conner, holding firm and steady. Brian gave the other a small smile, brittle, knowing that Dom was telling him silently that he wasn't alone, that his friend would soon be made his brother by marriage to Mia.

"So, now that that's settled," Letty smiled at Harry and he knew her words to be a distraction, to give Brian distance between now and his history. "I've a surprise for you. Your bike's done, you want to see it?" Dom's eyes widened in surprise, while Harry's smile made every bit of work she had done on it – and made Mia and Vince and Brain help with at the end, worth it.

"Yes, yes of course. I knew there was a reason I liked you." Harry looked ready to stand and bolt out, his fingers twitching as if to already try to touch what wasn't there.

"Likewise, m'lord Harry." Letty laughed with a wink. Harry looked up to catch Dom's staring, narrow eyed and almost suspicious in his surprise.

"But… you only got the contract, Okaying payment and everything today." Dom's expression showed his obvious dismay – if one knew what to look for, and Mia and Letty and Vince knew – while Harry and Brian saw only his worry at Harry's sudden good news.

"I figured you and Harry were good for it, and I was right, wasn't I?" Letty with her dark eyes and smirk dared Dom to deny that Harry wasn't – or that Dom wouldn't have paid her back for the bike if it had made Harry happy to have it.

Yet it was clear that Dom had expected to have more time with Harry and for a moment Letty felt bad about that – but it wasn't right, that Harry be trapped with Dom until Dom made up his mind on his feelings. Harry should be free to have his own feelings and make his own choices about them too.

"Where is it?" Harry queried with puppy-like eagerness.

"My garage, Dom can take you there." Letty hadn't looked away from Dom's own stare, but when Harry looked to him, Dom broke the look they were sharing.

She hid her own knowing smile, although Brian frowned between Harry and Dom in dawning suspicion, and when Brian looked to Vince – Vincent's nod was all the confirmation he needed to pin down that suspicion of feeling to _something_. It was good to know that Mia's future husband was not a blind one.

"Would you?" Harry asked, and that was what Letty liked about him – he _asked_ – he wasn't lordish enough to assume.

"Of course, come on, the sooner we go the sooner we can come back. I'm sure Letty and Mia will mix up some fruity non-alcoholic drinks to torture us – er- toast the coming bells and babe with." Dom stood and headed to the door, knowing that Harry was quickly standing to follow him out. He took one look to check how close Harry was behind him, and saw Brian mouth silently ' _nice save'_ to him. Dom smiled his thanks as he held open the door for Harry, and followed Harry out in turn.

"This way," Dom calls to Harry, waving him around to the side that Harry hadn't noticed before. "This is my garage." It isn't much to look like and is tucked in the back of the house rather than the front side, and it feels like a secret. Yet it's his now, what was once his dad's black 1970 Dodge Charger R/T is sitting there, like stalking hunter, ready to snatch from life those who are unwary of it's power. Dom has never been so careless, not since he saw his dad's crash.

It's what Don doesn't say about the car sitting front and enter of everything, like a shrine, that catches Harry's attention, he looks to Dom's face, his dark eyes, his stillness, and knows that a loss in Dom's life is linked to this car he keeps polished and purring.

"Was it your dad's?" Harry asks, softly, careful.

"It was my dad's first, but mine now, yes." It still scares Dom, but it's _his_ , his freedom in ten seconds. He wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to just leave –in the middle of the night, without saying a word to anyone – he'd drive off with nothing but what he needs and a few keepsakes, and drive until he could move in somewhere – somewhere no one knows anything about him, maybe where they don't even speak English.

Dom wonders if that's what Harry did. Dom knows he can't do the same – the Charger is both bait – and trap.

"He died in it, didn't he?" Harry can't help but be blunt about death, he sees no sense in euphemisms – living is alive, dead is dead. Both can hurt the living – but ghosts, with them, they can't feel pain, only a sense of wrongness, of displacement that makes them linger until they resolve whatever piece of them they forgot they needed to put right. Some of them don't want to be whole – but, in the end – they all go on.

"Yes." Dom says, blunt, knowing as he says it that there are no signs of that crash anywhere – his dad's body is ashes, the car restored – and looking at where he wrecked, you couldn't tell now that anything live-altering had happened to anyone, let alone death and dying. Dom thought about saying that too, but as Harry looks along the drive – no more than dirt and gravel until it hits the street, pockmarked black tar lined with faint yellows and whites.

Dom senses that Harry knows what sort of scars a seemingly ordinary place can show up. Harry starts to talk, soft and thoughtful, not really to Dom - but to himself, as if his own words can help him to sort his thoughts. Maybe they do. Dom has the feeling that Harry doesn't really talk about his story – not because it isn't important– but because it's the sort of story everyone knows about him, if they've heard of him and likely before they met him. Dom is the exception in this – in most everything since meeting Harry.

"There is this village in England called Godric's Hollow where I was born and I guess where my parents wanted to raise me. Not all wizards and witches are good people, like muggles we have or bad ones – and crazy, and powerful, and dark." Harry puts his hand on the sleek black Dodge Charger, wax and biting cold metal, knowing that it's as close as he will ever know of the love Dom felt for a father he knew, Harry's loss is disjointed, unbalanced, he misses what he never got a chance to truly know.

"One of the worst of the dark ones came after me because of a prophesy, I'm sure he would have come for my family eventually, my parents had been against him even while in school and faced him a number of times with a organization called the Order of the Phoenix – their headmaster, and mine, later – was the leader of it. He…he called himself the Dark Lord, Voldemort – but his name was Tom Riddle, and he killed them there, came to the door and walked in, killed my dad first – than my mom." Harry, as if the Dodge Charger is a Dementor, he can hear them being murdered all over again - his dad's shouting, his mom's pleas.

"Their cottage still stands there. The village made it into a monument. There is a statue of me as a baby with my mom and dad there too – and their bodies are laid to rest in the graveyard there. I was seventeen before I saw any of it. I still wasn't ready to see it – and yet, I didn't want to leave." There is a rough sort of longing in Harry still, and he doesn't know why he's told Dom what he has – but Dom's hand comes to rest on his neck, cradling it.

His support is a wordless weight, warm and comforting as the hand he holds onto Harry with. Harry is still under his touch, and it is not until Dom is pulling Harry face-to-face to him, his other arm circles around Harry's waist, fingers playing in the belt loops of his jeans near zipper and metal button. Harry loops his own arms around Dom in a hug, their foreheads resting against each other as they breathe together, warm private air – and Harry recalls a saying about pain shared being pain halved, and knows it for it's own wisdom.

The sudden press of Dom's lips against his brow is warm skin, and Harry up looks at him puzzled- but present, and that's what Dom cares about as he offers a small smile, not hesitant, but welcoming. Dom finds his fingers curling around the base of Harry's neck and tangling in the small hairs that grow there– but he doesn't pull the wizard toward him. Harry smiles, something between shy and sweetly – it's Harry that moves forward and his kiss is slick from just licked lips, his tongue flicks at Dom's lips and when he opens them, probes and pushes and plays. Dom breaks away reluctantly, breathing jagged and his smile more than smugness at Harry's glazed eyes and bruised lips.

Whatever long and lonely path Harry's mind might have been wondering, Dom has a very good idea now how to bring him back to the here and now.

"Come on." Dom nods as he opens the door to the driver's side, slipping in is like putting his hand in the wolf's maw, a dangerous thrill.

Dom sometimes thinks about just leaving his life here, moving in the middle of the night without saying a word to anyone. His car is both the bait and the trap. Now he wonders what it would be like with Harry to run away with – and if he would or could leave Harry on his own. Dom watches him as Harry opens the passenger door more carefully, as if he knows just what kind of beast the Charger is. Dom starts the Charger up, and it growls to life, shivering the metal around them to awareness, as if they really sit the mouth of some beast.

They say nothing more as Dom drives them to Letty's garage; Harry's silence was thoughtful rather than hurt or insulted. The ride is quiet, but Dom is glad to be in Harry's company– it's a quick trip, walking would have been just as easy. Yet having Harry with him in the Charger, driving, was somehow more satisfying.

Dom pulls up to Letty's garage and parks, getting out in an odd sort of synchronization with Harry as they walk to the sliding door, it's broken only when Dom gets out keys that Letty long ago gave him to her garage – and house, and with a twist it's unlocked and Dom lifts it up and it opens. Throughout it all, Dom is aware of Harry's stare upon him, and Dom would feel the same about that gaze as a watchful animal wondering at a trap or freedom.

The bike is there, sleek and black like a shadow.

"Hello, Sexy." Harry greets it - Sirius's bike, like it's a name. Dom is partly glad and partly disappointed that the motorcycle makes no reply. Harry catches his expression and smirks a bit, shrugging as if he might change Dom's feelings on that someday.

Harry looks to the sky, and Dom realizes he’s not just taking in the scenery because of nostalgia, no, he looks to the sky as Dom would look to the road he’s about to race. Dom feels his heartbeat climb when Harry nods upward, sliding a leg up over his motorcycle's seat, smirking suggestively as he straddles it.

“Want to fly?” Harry asks it like a challenge – it is – and a promise, and Dom holds him to it.

They fly together like it's a race that can't be won by wind or road; faster than flying is falling, faster than falling is love and much of love is like falling- and flying.

(The danger of it, the why – the way, is much the same.)


End file.
